Tah Ro Diis
by Calaphor
Summary: The Last Dragonborn faces a mighty challenge, of trying to deal with The First Dragonborn. The pair face several challenges in the far corners and hidden realms among Skyrim. Co-Authored by SaVrAiNoiR. Rated M for detailed Violence, watch at your own discretion. Disclaimer: Obviously neither my friend and I own Elder Scrolls, we're both fans and wanted to write an intense story.
1. First Impressions

Vorilla stood before a hideous black book in the depths of Miraak's temple with a sour feeling in her stomach. She hardly knew what she was doing there in the first place. Well... after a pack of random tentacle masked cultists accused her of being a false Dragonborn and tried to kill her for it, she gathered that if she /didn't/ come all this way to face their master, he would inevitably find a way to bring her down. Why? She didn't understand. It was the Greybeards who gave her an official. Apparently it wasn't commonplace for someone to absorb a dragon's soul after killing one.

It sure would help a lot if she could remember a single detail of her life before the attack on Helgen.

Try as she might, she just couldn't recall any details before that day. If she had a family or a home before... it was lost forever. After Alduin swooped down over that poor village - after she allowed an Imperial to lead her into Riverwood, Vorilla spent months hopelessly wandering around Skyrim in search of a path that suited her, helping Jarl's and little people along the way. Everyone was always happy to meet the great Dragonborn and task her with something dangerous, daunting.

Riften felt like home for the longest. There, she dove head first into the Thieves Guild. While she wasn't a big fan of stealing from anyone, she thoroughly enjoyed the priceless skills she learned through the process and the pay... and gaining Nocturnal's favor turned out to be most beneficial.

Nightingale Armor was snug, sleek, and did a spectacular job at concealing Vorilla's identity. Even her short stature and red hair weren't dead giveaways as long as her facial features were obscured by leather and shadow. She carried an ebony sword on her left hip, an orcish bow on her back, enough potions and ingredients to survive a variety of encounters, amulets of Talos, Mara, and Akatosh, and a leather bound journal that she was determined to fill with stories of her experiences... if she survived her youth for long enough to tell the tale.

She wasn't the only one who decided to visit Miraak's temple. There was a native woman named Froya who insisted on tagging along, and she too stared at the black book without knowing what to do… until Vorilla decided that they'd done enough gawking and lifted it from its pedestal. She /meant/ to read it when she pried it open. Instead, she experienced the wild sensation of being transported from mortal ground somewhere in Oblivion.

Miraak over his many millennia had read and re-read millions of tombs, having to study the history of Nirn as it unraveled before him. Prominent figures from the timeline were men and women he could have held an intriguing discussion with, prior to them being subverted to his will.

However he had to watch from behind stolen glances through mortal servants and written word, he had mastered and was fluent in many languages, not including those that had died out, but it was still no use if he had no one to speak to!

Hjalti. Ysmir. Talos. Dragon of the North. Tiber Septim.. He would have been a worthy adversary, or, in another time, student. He could have guided the man to greater powers than mantling a god, that was certain. Vivec, of the Tribunal in Morrowind would have been at least a worthy footstool.

Yet here he was..trapped in the realm of Herma-Mora. The Prince kept watch over his entire Realm of Oblivion, Apocrypha was in some ways worse than Mehrunes Dagon's Deadlands. The tantalizing morsels of knowledge offered are not worth the eternal damnation of the soul, and it is only through his endless power Miraak has managed to remain valuable to Hermaeus Mora, for once Alduin returns, he shall be sent to destroy him, as he should have done all those long years ago. Then, once upon the mortal plane he will shatter the bindings Mora placed upon him and claim his birthright. All shall serve him, Man, Mer, Beast, Daedra, they will submit to him!

Suddenly there was a twinge in his senses. He felt the presence of a dragon, a young, weak Dov. Turning away he looked down the steps at a pitiful, twig of a woman and flicked his wrist. Two Knowledge Seekers rotated and unleashed the paralyzing magicks, thought to be the gasps of realization of important knowledge before death. He believed this woman had stumbled upon one of Mora's black books and foolishly read it. She would die quickly with this and her soul /might/ be saved from Mora.

Really, he was showing her mercy.

Vorilla collapsed down to her hands and knees as if the pull of gravity here was too much to handle, although she barely took notice of what was happening to her physical self as it was truly her mind that felt most overwhelmed.

Her vision was violently skewed from being transported, but she tried her best to understand her situation as her surroundings came into focus. Wherever she was, books - thousands, no, /millions/ of aging books and scrolls had been stacked and used for structure, and where there weren't books there was black metal, slate, pools of toxic looking sludge, every shade of green... and then there were those hideous creatures that pinned her down with unfamiliar magic... a blue dragon with a rounded nose... and a man whose presence /felt/ like that of a dragon.

Was this the infamous Miraak, bent on ending her life? She knew she was already in trouble if he was, for she was in no position to defend herself. At the moment she wasn't strong enough to speak let alone raise her sword!

Staring her down a long moment as he came to terms with what had arrived before him, he took a step down closer to her, upon further inspection finding her physical form was not truly here, but she had projected her soul here. It would be so appealing to claim it but.. The body was needed to carry out such a task, otherwise Hermaeus Mora would catch on. No, they saw one another but she could not be killed.

"Little Girl, do you understand where you are? I know you cannot speak. You must be so frightened."

He finally reached her, taking his time. She was no threat, and could not lash out. So as he knelt down, conjuring a ball of emerald green light, Miraak brought it close to her face and took in the details, every line, scar, blemish, the expression her face held, the look in her eyes. He would remember this moment distinctly. Through his mask, perhaps she could see some hint of his eyes but their color would elude her.

"I am Miraak. The True, Greatest Dragonborn to have ever lived. None other would dare face me and my power. And here you are, arriving on your knees to bow before me, shaking in fear."

The dragon behind him, altered by his time in the realm moved closer, a deep rumbling in its chest. He Banished the light in his hand and it backed away as he rose to his feet. Staring down at her, he began to contemplate how exactly he should cast her soul back to Nirn. It had to be done in a way so that he could provide a tether between them, for he wanted to keep a close eye upon this mortal. She could indeed provide an amusing distraction.

Vorilla's features were indeed too neotenous for someone destined to venture down a path of agony and destruction. Unruly red curls spilled out of her hood, her skin was fair, a light spray of childish freckles dotted her cheekbones, her lips round and red, and her eyes were large and green like seafoam. One narrow pink scar marred the right side of her cheek from temple to chin - the only proof she had of ever having survived a battle. Yes, she looked like an angry child, but she was not a little girl no matter how insignificant she looked.

This marked the first day of her existence that she ever felt compelled to defend her position as Dragonborn. Her soul practically /screamed/ to be set loose and clash with Miraak, to prove him wrong in spite of their glaring differences in power. Every inch he drew closer and every word he spoke made her want to jump out of her own skin... but she could not. The most she could do after what felt like an eternity of struggle was find her voice.

"You... traitorous, forgotten, has been old man," she replied with a great deal of effort, the words heaving from her constricted chest in between audible gasps for air, " I bet you're… a dusty bag of bones just like… the last priest I broke apart. It's no wonder you have… me pinned to the… floor…"

The air suddenly became all too cold and far too hot all at once. He rose up to his full height, looking down upon her with anger bespoken in his stance. A few seconds passed before he reached down, forcing her chin upwards.

As he dropped a few layers of magic that generally obscured his appearance, his eye color became apparent to her. They were swirling orbs of acidic Emerald, as if the essence of the realm had been infused into his very soul. They spoke of the countless years he had lived, of all the knowledge he carried. And, as the iris of his eyes literally swirled it spoke most highly of his power.

"I am inclined to believe you little more than an upstart. But allow me to demonstrate the vast span between our powers."

He pushed her away, but something, an invisible force held her head so she could not look away. Energy, Raw Magicka swirled then he inhaled sharply his next words echoed throughout not just the body, but the soul.

"MUL QUA DIIV!"

The words to her would sound unfamiliar, and distant. This is due to these words losing the same meaning he had found for them. She would need to strengthen herself before she could handle something of this caliber, her soul would need countless Dov slain and used before she would be ready.

In a burst of unworldly power, jagged and ethereal armor began construction around Miraak, dark green suffused within it as it grew rapidly. It went down his arms and legs, across his broad shoulders, over his mask and protruding from his head were wicked curved horns. Finally, as if they were meant to be, from his arms were cloaks of dark mist, representing.. Wings.

"This is the manifestation of my soul, in all its glory! As a Dovahkiin I possess abilities far beyond any man, mer, or Dov. Even far beyond you."

A stinging in his mind alerted him to the attention of his benefactor being drawn rapidly to him. He was short on time. With another breath, a small chip of his armor fell away and began floating towards her, before entering her chest. It was a small reward for her, to tease her with power she would never know.

"I give you This, Girl, my own understanding of MUL, so you may know Strength and why you will never have it."

Once he was sure the kernel of knowledge had enlightened her, the stream of energy connecting them thickened and turned a deep green. It coiled around her shoulders and neck, coming to a stop in front of her face in the form of a serpent.

"And now you shall leave this place. If you know what is good for you, be prepared to kiss the tail of my robes when I make my return to Solstheim."

Swinging his arm the serpent struck, casting her projection out of Apocrypha.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello anyone who ends up dropping in to read this! It has been such a very long time since I have posted to this site, but a friend and I began to write this story so I asked and she said it would be okay to post it here, her account is referenced in the story summary. This story is going to be a bit more violent and deviate from what a video game story would usually show. If anyone has any questions, drop a review and I'll answer as soon as possible.


	2. Budding Frustrations

Vorilla's trip back to Solsteim was just as quick as getting sucked into Apocrypha and it was the /last/ thing she was expecting to happen. Did he not have packs of his followers scouring the ground to find and dispose of her? She was right there in front of him and all he did was show off and let her go. An awful quiet filled her soul as they were parted.

"You're back!" Frea was still standing where she left her, eyes wide and full of wonder, "What did you see?"

"I...am keeping this." Vorilla threw back her hood and clutched the black book to her chest like it was the most precious thing - the most important item she'd ever find in her lifetime, because it truly was. Instinctively she knew that the knowledge tucked away in Apocrypha was priceless, and it just so happened to be the place where her predecessor was sealed away. He was out of his damn gourd if he believed she wouldn't dare return, especially after he teased her with a new word of power.

She couldn't shake the sound of his voice from her mind. Suddenly she wasn't as confused about why the people outside were so easily swayed and entranced by it. In order to get the weak to do his bidding all he'd have to do manipulate their will with his enigmatic voice.

"I saw Miraak. He's... I'm going to need to buy myself some time if I'm going to formally challenge him, Frea. I'm lucky to be standing here."

"This is a dangerous thing then. Follow me to my village where we can show this to my father."

And so began yet another quest for the Last Dragonborn. Vorilla followed Frea through the wind and snow to meet with Storn in Skaal, an old Shaman who believed in a one-God called 'The All Maker'- not that she cared for any more useless religion to be forced into her mind, but she pretended to care as he rambled on about it anyway. What mattered was that he knew of a place where she could go to learn one of Miraak's shouts all on her own. Far North-West of Skaal was an ancient dragon lair called Saering's Watch. There, she could learn the word of power for bending will and charge it with the soul of its Dragon guard.

Frea pleaded to tag along, but Vorilla refused the company. A follower meant responsibility and frankly, she couldn't afford the effort it would take to keep her alive if a dragon attacked them on the way... and Frea would surely judge her if she witnessed her open the book again.

So, Vorilla wandered off into the wilderness alone on yet /another/ quest. With the book of Waking Dreams hugged securely to her side, she endured the stiff wind and snow for several hours, and she slowed down until the sun started dipping below the horizon. She found an abandoned little doorless shack on the beach to use for the night. Inside was a bed roll, and the hot coals of a once burning fire beneath a kettle for cooking. There, she reignited the fire for heat with a little magic, stretched herself out on the ground, and finally had the chance to think over her situation in peace.

Somewhere out there tucked away in the plains of Oblivion, sealed within the confines of the largest most private collection of knowledge to ever exist was Miraak - The First Dragonborn, and he was plotting his escape from the Daedric Prince who kept him there. Whatever he planned to do, if and when he returned to the mortal world, surely conflicted with her addiction to breathing. It didn't feel to her like she had nearly enough time to pull learn the skills she'd need to stop him. How could she ever hope to compete with someone who had thousands of years to study inside of Apocrypha.

Miraak had begun rereading several dozens tomes about Dragonborn of the past, trying to compare them to this new challenger. If she could even be called that. He felt her knowledge and power were limited to what others had been able to guide her towards. She would have to grow substantially to become as powerful as him, it should be impossible.. But it would not hurt to brush up on some of his combat skills.

"My Lord, the fact that she carried the blood and soul of the Dragons escapes me. She lives, if you must know."

Hermaeus Mora was all around him. Voids with eyes and boneless arms, spinning around him, looking for any sign of weakness. He stared back without fear, more with exasperation. They had done this song and dance so many times.

"Well now, this creates quite the interesting moment. So many tidbits of history, coming directly to my realm. The fact that the First Dragonborn has survived and endured all of this time, to the point he encounters the last of his kind.. Truly, a footnote to write within the scrolls of history.."

Mora's voice spoke from inside of his head as the invisible tentacles writhed and thrashed, trying to shatter his mental defenses and claim hidden knowledge. Miraak had nothing to hide though, allowing Mora to examine what he knew and realized it was nothing more than valuable information that the Prince himself has allowed more freedom than he thought, it was so hard to keep track of his things nowadays...

Vorilla awoke the following morning feeling stiff and chilled to the bone after spending the night on the ground next to the sea. The fire had gone out at some point while she was asleep, but at least nothing had shown up to give her any trouble.

After taking the time to eat some bread, she left the beach to complete her journey.

Saering's Watch was the crumbling remains of a Nordic looking structure that was /crawling/ with restless draugr. From a distance - crouched down behind a stray chunk of wall, she could see the draugr were already engaged with the Frost Dragon who lived there. Why bother stepping in while they unwittingly helped her take the beast down?

She waited in the shadows until every last draugr was dead before she drew out her bow to engage with the Dragon herself, and by then it was already at half of its strength. Fifteen arrows and a few shouts of unrelenting force later, and down it came with a sickening crash, business as usual.

Vorilla stood tall beside its head, staring into the Dragon's open eyes - the strangest part of the process for her. Any second now it's mass would fill with glowing heat and turn to ash, and she'd feel the exhilarating rush of taking its life force into her own. Even though the were dangerous she believed all of them were truly beautiful creatures in their own way. Killing them always felt sort of... wrong, but they gave her no choice, and she needed their souls to charge the shouts she learned. This was the only way.

The tether he had created between himself and this enigma finally produced a reaction, she had slain a dragon. Using dark and ancient Magicks, he pulled on the tether and found himself projected into Nirn. Not the result he was expecting but he was glad for it nonetheless. The skies, cloudy and blue, the sun shining, and snow settled around him. Ah, the bodies too. He missed all of this. He looked in front of him to see the child trying to absorb the soul of a Dovah. Obviously slain by her, but she did not simply reach for it, instead waiting for the dragon to lose his grip upon his physical form? In the presence of any Dovahkiin this would work well enough.. But with two..

He extended a hand and grabbed something, the body of the Dragon shuddering and bursting into flames, the soul inching towards her before he ripped it away and drew it within himself.

"Thank you for your contribution, servant. I shall endeavor to make your end swift when I return. Ah, Saering's Watch. It is here I meditated for a month, day and night, to master MUL. It is through my generosity you carry my understanding of it, but you will have to work yourself harder in order to earn such power. I shall claim this soul in order to help expand my own power, and will use it in a way that the Dovah would have willingly slain themselves to fulfill my needs. Go now, and continue my work."

His tone was authoritative and mocking, as his ethereal form faded away and his attention snapped back to his reality of Apocrypha. Now he has had the slightest taste of freedom.. He would claim it..

He wasn't standing there long enough for Vorilla to come up with anything to say. She simply stood there looking like a fool with her mouth agape, eyes wide and full of unbridled anger... and then he was gone. He took the soul /she/ earned into himself and went on his merry way.

"Son of a WHORE!" She bellowed and threw her bow in agitation, fury boiling in her guts. The echo of her voice came back at her from multiple directions and caused a few reaching peaks of snow to cascade down the mountainside, but she didn't care. Let all of Solsteim suffer - break apart and disappear in her wake. At least then Miraak's fantasy about taking over the land would be ruined, wouldn't it?

Thank Akatosh she has the sense to march up to the word wall to see it for herself. This was in fact the place where she gathered the first word required to Bend will; Gol (Earth)

What use was a word without the power to reach understanding it?! Would Miraak pop up to interrupt her while she pursued the next two words too?!

This would not do - no, not at /all/.

Against all common sense and reason, Vorilla sat down on the cold stone against the word wall and pulled Waking Dreams into her lap and let it suck her in. Since for whatever reason it seemed like neither could harm the other during their brief meetings so far, she was willing to take her chances. Lady Luck was on her side. If she could find Miraak in Apocrypha once again, she was determined to give him a piece of her mind.

He had not been returned for long when he felt the somewhat now familiar tug on his nerves, and quickly cast a spell that sent him forth to the Waking Dreams, a part of Apocrypha focused on dreams, Nightmares, visions, prophecies, and other related material.

Upon arriving he found her, looking all in a huff and rather agitated. But what was intriguing was that she was actually /here/. Not projecting like last time. This time..

"You have returned to bend your knee to me, have you? Or submit your soul? It would not go to waste, I can assure you."

He snapped his fingers and seized her with a spell of immobilization, and with a gesture of come hither levitated her off of the ground and drew her close. He grabbed her chin, a throaty chuckle coming from his chest.

"You were foolish to rush here so quickly. If you wanted a target for your frustrations there are far less dangerous ones than I."

He was always in control. Always made himself heard. Every step, every motion screamed of the power and rightness of his stride. As he stood here, having easily overwhelmed her with a few flicks, he rotated her, looking her over now that she wasn't an ethereal projection of her soul.

The sword and bow were taken from her, levitating out of her reach.

"Well? Say what you came to say so I may devise what I am to do with you."

Vorilla expected everything that's happened to happen so far - to be immobilized, disarmed, and forced to endure more of Miraak's damned mouth... but it surprised her all the same. He was the only physical being she's ever met who could toy with her this way. He was Dragonborn. Anything less dangerous than him would never satisfy her, and if she ever did manage to best him she'd spend the rest of her life 'chasing the dragon' in search of a comparable challenge that did not exist. That realization made her even more angry than she was before she opened the book for a second time.

"Go ahead and kill me already," She dared him, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, "You're bound to Apocrypha, aren't you? I'll bet that's why you came to steal the soul /I/ won in battle. You can't get your boots on the ground to do it yourself."

Which was at best an educated guess, but again, she'd take her chances. If he needed her to bring down dragons to gain power, he'd be hurting his own plans by ending her life.

"Do it."

He reached out with a hand for seemingly nothing, and then a book flew into his waiting grasp. He did not look away from her as it opened and several words glowed, flying off of the pages.

"When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world

When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped

When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles

When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn..

This is the prophecy foretold. All events have aligned in order to allow you to appear. The great war with the Third Aldmeri Dominion. The Numidium, and the DragonBreak. The Tribunal and the Nerevarine. The Death of Martin Septim to end the Oblivion Crisis. The Civil War raging in Skyrim. Alduin has awoken, and If you are destined to face him you must know what it is you are to do battle with."

He removed his glove, unveiling that he had pale, but living skin. Flexing his thumb, it cut itself and he pressed the cut to her forehead, smearing blood that burned her flesh across it. He then pushed what he desired into her head.

It was Death carried on Black wings.

It was the sky swallowed, when night sings.

It was fire and doom spelled upon Earth.

Leaving smoldering ashes under the Hearth.

Mountains ruined and tombs sundered.

Ocean pushed and life plundered.

As the vision faded, the burning vision of what The World water was, the look in his eyes in the one instance Miraak faced him down all those millennia ago would forever scar her memory.

"So it has remained with me, I pass it on to you. Enjoy your Waking Dreams."

The Serpent that represented their tenuous connection struck forth yet again, and once more she was cast out of Oblivion by the merciful hand of Miraak.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, a second chapter put out now. I am also going to try for a third today, a lot of this is pre-written, simply not edited so that is what will take a lot of the time to get chapters out. It will be a somewhat slow build up to some of the more important events. Miraak is able to do the things he has done because- he is thousands of years old, an ancient dragonborn with more than enough time and access to powerful knowledge to figure out things no one has ever done before. Even in the game he was rather intimidating a foe early on, unless you over prepare for him. In this story however, he isn't going to be limited by what Skyrim was able to do with him.


	3. The Art of the Deal

Sullied and tortured by the dark memories Miraak pushed into her consciousness, Vorilla spent an unmeasured amount of time huddled against the cold stone of the word wall at her back, staring into space. She couldn't - didn't want/ to understand why he shared the horror of Alduin with her. She'd never be strong enough to defeat The World Eater if Miraak continued to get in her way... and if /he/ couldn't finish the job how could she ever hope to do better? This business of being Dragonborn suddenly felt like an impossible weight on her shoulders...

But eventually she stood up, dusted herself off, and carried that weight back to the Skaal village for more answers. Storn directed her to seek out Master Neloth, the Telvani wizard she met in Raven Rock when she first arrived in Solstheim. He lived in the highest tower within Tel Mithryn, which was essentially a forest comprised of gigantic mushrooms - a pleasant, lovely place that briefly spared her mind of the heaviness that plagued her.

Neloth was surprisingly eager to cooperate. He too was in possession of a black book... that he was unwilling to share, /but/ he did know the location of another installment, and he was willing to help her get her hands on it. The catch? It was sealed tight in the mostly submerged Dwemer ruin called Nchardak, City of a Hundred Towers. Neloth assured her that it would only be a matter of using a control cube to drain the place out and restore power to the pumps. He was /sure/ his plan would work. The only reason he hadn't already done it himself is that it was a two person job.

So, the wizard and the Dragonborn traveled together to get their hands on that book. This quest was /not/ a quick one, or an easy one. It didn't help that Neloth wasn't interested in getting his hands dirty when he could help it. Often times Vorilla found herself being the one to hold her breath and swim down to the hard to reach places to move control cubes around. Neloth was a decent wing man whenever they were attacked by dwemer spiders, but he always kept his distance and quickly resumed his role as a glorified tour guide when the coast was clear. As they walked together, Vorilla asked as many questions as she could about Miraak, Apocrypha, and the Daedric Prince who ruled over it called Hermaeus-Mora. He provided objective information regardless of the question, and he was not as quick to judge her for her curiosity as she expected. In the end she was left with even more questions than she had before... questions that only another visit to Apocrypha could answer.

How could she condemn a Dragonborn who turned on Alduin and failed? How could she blame him for taking advantage of servitude under Mora's thumb during such dark days? Desperate times cause for desperate measures. She would never admit it out loud, but after hearing the story from Neloth instead of the Skaal, she felt less inclined to kill Miraak than she had this morning. Did she dislike him any less? No. Did he deserve thousands of years of isolation? No.

Too bad he was so obsessed with bending the will of Solstheim to be trusted.

Vorilla could hardly believe it when at last they restored power to the water pumps and freed the black book, 'Epistolary Acumen' from its tomb of glass in the Reading Room. Naturally the ever curious Neloth insisted she read it right away. She even heard him ask her to say hello to Hermaeus-Mora for him as the book sucked her soul into it's pages.

Ah, finally. Their turn had come at last. All this time that had been spent watching this one, for quite some time longer than anyone would have expected. Secrets, knowledge, and information were so very valuable and they had oh so much.

When the Prophesied Last Dragonborn read another of the Black Books, there had been a set up of a few traps and trials for her to test her willpower and determination. She passed with effort of course, but that was to be expected of someone with the soul of a Dragon. Miraak was so similar, It could see just what would be needed in order to control her. The right hints and proper coaxing and she could be theirs.

"Lady Vorilla, Nightingale of Nocturnal. You return to my realm yet again, This could be called your third trespass upon it."

All around her black mist and eyes and instead if tentacles, were bloody pages torn from books swirling around. Within each eye was the reflection of a murderer. Each eye was coming upon the realization of who their killer would be. Some knew theirs, others did not. Many served In Apocrypha as Seekers now.

Every eye looked at her, the mist forming around her feet, the evil realm around her seemed to be hidden from view. He was blocking Miraak from viewing this conversation and would keep his servant occupied for a while yet, alphabetically organizing the hall of Living Scripts.

"Lady...?"

Vorilla froze in place and her heart stopped. Before her was the most hideous /thing/ she'd ever seen, and also the second most powerful Prince she'd ever met - the one that managed to seduce and enslave the First Dragonborn who was significantly more talented than herself.

What really grabbed her attention here wasn't so much what he looked like... It was that he didn't refer to her as Dragonborn and instead acknowledged her partnership with Nocturnal.

"Erm... Forgive me, but... I'm really not sure which one of your eyes I'm supposed to be looking at." She apologized, gaze darting from eye to disgusting eye on his... within his tentacle mass.

"It is of no consequence as to what you behold, for I am Hermaeus Mora, The Prince of Knowledge."

As if the being around her referenced itself as being more than an entity, to being everything here.. He was the realm.

The mist stirred and rose up, the smell of molding pages and leather floating through the air, before it faded and was overpowered by the smell of acid.

"I understand you seek knowledge. Every bit of it here is available to those who earn it."

Was this... was he attempting to strike a deal with her? Vorilla tilted her head to the side, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. This would be a terrible time to make a bad judgement call. She did not/ want to spend the rest of her life in Apocrypha. The inhabitants were unpleasant, and it smelled horrid in every corner. All of the knowledge she knew she needed was waiting to be discovered.

Desperate sacrifices didn't need to be made today... Right?

"At what cost?"

The mist swirled a moment, as this was falsely contemplated. The void knew already, it simply waited so this mortal would not recognize just how prepared for her it was.

"The first.. Exchange I offer you is this: My servant Miraak grows ever more troublesome. And in the Mortal Plane of Nirn, Alduin continues to gain strength. I will offer you the next word of power of the Bend Will shout, in exchange you will do two things, remove my servant from power and you may become my mortal champion, you will walk Nirn and do my bidding should I call upon you. The second task is to use your knowledge to destroy Alduin. The loss of knowledge and the Followers of It is unacceptable."

The air hung heavy with a tense silence, her answer would decide many things. The first being Miraak's very life.

"You're asking me to kill Miraak? He's been serving you for thousands of years!"

She was already planning and destined to kill Alduin, wasn't she? One way or another by hell or high water she would defeat him and bring balance back to Skyrim. She didn't need Hermaeus-Mora to make that happen, nor did she /need/ to bring Miraak down... although just to clash with him even once would please her.

"Let's say I did kill him, how do I know you wouldn't give me the same treatment?"

"I have recognized the folly of keeping such a.. Loyal servant as Miraak in Apocrypha. Were you to serve me, you would be left in Nirn to do as you please, that is how it will be."

Hoping that the bait would be taken was pointless, however one last tidbit might be exactly what she needed to be convinced.

Summoning it forth was impossible, but the writings about it? Simple.

"In addition it could be offered.. A tidbit, a morsel, this shall be of great use to you.."

A small journal floated from the mist. It seemed simple enough, and unlike hers had obviously seen much use.

"Unless you accept though, it shall remain within my realm forever."

"I..."

Vorilla stared hard at the journal, still chewing on her bottom lip as she tried Her very hardest to think rationally. The walls were closing in. Her heart started pounding madly in her chest. Oh, how /easy it would be to agree to this madness! However, she was already sworn to serve Lady Nocturnal. Luck was on her side no matter what she decided to do. Miraak didn't have that benefit. His master sounded like he'd be glad to be rid of him. What a waste of talent that would be! Tch! As if she stood a chance against him in the first place!

"It isn't fair of you to dangle carrots in my face like this. For all I know, all that journal contains is the best recipe for venison stew," The Last Dragonborn haughtily crossed her arms over her chest and turned her face to stare at nothing instead of Mora.

"I refuse to agree to any terms that are this convoluted. I'm not stupid!"

Mora let out an ironic huff. Knowing that she had the willpower to deny him made this all the more intriguing.

"You bring up a valid point. Very well. What alternate terms do you wish to dictate? It can be noted that you will not be slain for the first offence against myself were you to do so."

The implications he laid down for her were as direct as possible. More than one offence and it was obvious Mora might willingly take offence and take retribution.

The journal slid away back into the mist, being hidden from her forever. It was unlikely he would be willing to bring it forth again.

The eyes all focused intensely on her, all blinking at once.

Talos, this was hard! Now on top of her racing heart, Vorilla felt like she was breathing too quickly. This conversation was giving her an adrenaline rush... but she had to play it cool. She didn't want to risk offending Mora more than once, and she wanted to leave a winner and not a slave.

"Well..." She cast him a sidelong glance, choosing to meet his largest eye, "Is there any book or scroll out there in the world that you want, but aren't in possession of?"

The mist stilled, and Mora spoke.

"The extensive reach of my collection has few vacancies. How will it be known you'll make good on your promise to obtain knowledge that I do not possess? I would need your word, spoken in the dragon tongue before.. And what would you be asking for in return? That is what weighs this scale most heavily."

Miraak was hastily sorting the Living Scripts.. The time was now limited before this was interrupted. Mora would not have his toys be put together so easily, just so they could tear each other apart.

"I think the exchange - What I'd want in return would greatly depend on the value of whatever text it is that you're looking for, right?"

Whatever Mora wanted, she'd learn, and then she'd know exactly what to ask for.

"Provide me with an Elder Scroll and you shall have the right to ask for a boon."

He wouldn't say if she would gain the boon, nor would he willingly say what the boon might be. It would be up to her as to what she would ask for..

"That is the only deal that shall be accepted."

"An Elder Scroll!" She gasped, incredulous as could be. Her youthful face went all aglow soon after his request sent in. Something that valuable would go for anything he was in possession of! /Anything/ she wanted would be worth less than a scroll capable of disrupting Akatosh himself!

Vorilla wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She didn't mean to hesitate. She wanted to feel confident about her decision... and wouldn't you know, there must have still been a smudge of blood dried to her forehead. Some came off with her hand as she pulled it away.

"In exchange for Miraak's soul, I will swear to retrieve an Elder Scroll for you /and/ to defeat Alduin."

"Very well, it is agreed upon then. I will expect you to be capable of this feat, and if you fail your soul will be mine."

Miraak would be furious and leashed to her, and her to him, it would mean victory in the end regardless.

He wondered if she would be able to handle the challenge.. Dragonborn or not, there was a lot on the line. Not specifically including the end of the world… Mortal world, perhaps, but without that he would lose the chance at knowledge, at followers, worshipers.. It would be very poor business indeed.

"Oh... /great/."

What had she DONE?! Out of all the decisions she's made, this had to be the most dangerous, impulsive, ridiculous. Mora wasn't kidding. He really didn't want Miraak anymore.

What the hell was she going to do with him? !

"Alright, a deal is a deal."

The mist spun around her, before forcing its way into her nose and mouth.

"As you have said, a deal.. Is a deal. Now, go. Miraak shall be held here until such a time as you return with the Scroll."

The mist choked her until she blacked out, and when she awoke she will have been forced out of Apocrypha and back to Nirn, in a ruin with an old man chattering at her.

* * *

Author's Note: So things are beginning to develop gradually at this point, as you can imagine. This story will very loosely use in game material, but deviates from it when it was felt the in game content did not deliver satisfactory results. Anyway, here is the next chapter. Most of them will be posted around this time, unless I have a day off.


	4. Building Tension

Back in the realm of Oblivion, Miraak was furiously attempting to circumvent Mora in order to find Vorilla and what exactly had occurred. The Prince however blocked almost every method, every question, every attempt to view the memory, read the transcripts of the encounter. Miraak was hastily sent off to do other work, despite how absolutely enraged he was. That was all he was to the Prince, another follower, a tool.

* * *

Neloth waited patiently in the same place that she left him. From his perspective she wasn't gone for longer than a few minutes. For her, it had felt like /days/. Her nose was still permeated with the unpleasant smell of Apocrypha. She needed a bath, and a drink.

"What happened? What did you see? Different people have very different experiences when reading these books." He approached her without caution or concern for her mental state, hands folded behind his back.

Vorilla quietly dropped the second black book into her knapsack. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't stop chewing on her bottom lip. Why oh /why/ did she make that deal? She could have had almost anything she wanted and she had to go and let her empathy for the First Dragonborn cloud her judgement. For all she knew he'd be livid about what she'd done - What she'd do to save him, and now consequently herself from Mora's wrath. She could only hope that once she broke him out of Apocrypha that he'd be supportive during her quest to defeat Alduin.

Yeah... maybe once he had his boots on the ground and fresh air in his lungs he'd feel reasonable.

"Hello? Did Hermaeus-Mora get into your head too? What a pity!"

"No, no - sorry. He tried to trick me into becoming his next champion, but where's the dignity in that? Solsteim won't have to worry about Miraak anymore though. He's lost his right to pursue his freedom. Mora lost interest in him. Still... I should probably stick around to learn the rest of his shouts just in case..."

And she did stick around - planned to anyway, but first she needed a night in to deliberate her circumstances. She needed a solid plan of action. Vorilla used what remained of the daylight to whirlwind sprint herself all the way back to Raven Rock. The Retching Netch was the only Inn in all of Solstheim. Their food was substandard, as was the general environment within, but a room for the night was cheap. She bought as much Sujamma as she could carry in both arms and locked herself away, careful to avoid discussing anything with any of the locals. If she had it her way, no one would remember her face or her name. It was /nice/ for a change to be somewhere that people didn't automatically recognize her as Dragonborn.

Shut in and all alone to her thoughts, Vorilla sat down on the singular bed in the dusty little room and started drinking before she'd even bothered to kick off her boots.

Screwed is what she was. Epically, unequivocally /screwed/. She didn't know where any Elder Scrolls were, and she knew she couldn't go around asking about them without drawing attention to herself. All she'd managed to do was buy herself time and save the soul of someone who would not appreciate the gesture. She could have celebrated the fact that she hadn't given in to Mora's wishes... but she was sure she was still somehow deceived. Mora gave in far too easily.

What was the catch?

Two bottles of Sujamma later, she dragged both black books out onto the bed and stared at the covers. Would it be smart to discard them? Hide them away? Light them on fire?

"If you continue to stare at them like that I will assume my.. Master.. Has claimed another victim.. And will thusly use all of my power across space and time to destroy your insignificant life."

Miraak walked into her view, a projection as he had appeared before. He held his hands behind his back, looking none too pleased.

"You returned to Apocrypha but did not confront me this time.. You had another goal in mind. Mora hid you away from my view but I know he spoke to You. Otherwise I wouldn't have been.. Preoccupied."

Energy crackles about him, zigzag of lightning, snow gently gliding and fire sparking around him in an aura of general agitation. He clenched his fists determined not to reveal his less than savory mood and act as if his state was something casual.

"GODS!"

Vorilla wasn't prepared for this intrusion in the least bit. Upon hearing his voice - before she even caught sight of him she jolted so hard and fast it was a miracle she didn't fall off the bed and hit the floor. She backed herself up against the wall instead, drew her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around herself like the anxiety brewing inside of her would blow her apart.

"This is /my/ room! Can't you see the door is closed?! You can't just barge in on a woman like this, Miraak. You just /can't/!" Right off the bat she could think of at least ten good reasons why he shouldn't cross this line. She might have listed them off out loud if she was sober... and if she didn't realize partway through scolding him that he looked fit to be tied.

"I didn't have a specific goal in mind, alright? My quest brought me to another black book and I opened it. How was I supposed to know it would bring me to Mora?"

Who inconveniently hadn't mentioned to Miraak what deal had been struck in his absence. Damn, damn, /damn/.

"He didn't tell you anything?"

"He acted as if nothing had happened whatsoever. My scrying revealed nothing except you retrieved a black book. Tell me what was discussed or I shall be forced to tear your mind apart and find what I am looking for. What you, Girl, do not seem to understand is that I am beyond mortal limitations. I do not care for, nor do I need food or sleep, or sex. I care not for your pitiful privacy, should you fail in your task I shall rise up and do all I set out to do. "

He drew forth his sword, ethereal though or was it still seemed to have a wicked sharp, poisonously slimy edge. He held it out to her neck, tentacles slither forth from the hilt and licking at her neck. No physical touch would be felt but he made sure she would be able to sense it across her neck.

"What say you?"

Vorilla stared down the length of his unnatural sword without blinking and swallowed /hard/. She was in way over her head! No, she wouldn't lie. She would have told him the truth without having it forced out of her. Like it or not, he'd have to get over it eventually.

"He wanted me to agree to kill you and take your place as his champion, and he offered me the shouts I'd need to do it. He would have rewarded me with the knowledge I'd need to defeat Alduin, and promised that he'd allow me to live in Nirn instead of Apocrypha," She began, daring to tilt up her chin to look at his mask instead of his blade. The decisions she made today weren't pleasant, but things could always be a lot worse. After all, she could be stuck in Apocrypha right now alphabetizing millions of books for a tentacle beast with more eyes than heads.

"I refused - I mean, I refused to kill you. Didn't seem right. So, I... in exchange for an Elder Scroll, he is giving me your soul. It was the best counter I could come up with under pressure."

The tense silence hung heavily, and he waited several minutes before flinching, a scream echoing in a nearby room. Flicking his wrist she would be paralyzed for now.

There was shuffling as a door was forced open, and shouts were heard. He drew something into his hands.. It was bright and.. Was trying to move someplace, but he kept a firm grip on it.

"This is what happens to mortals that irritate me, obstruct my goals and interfere with my plans."

He knew this would be heard in everyone's head, not quite on the entire island.. But he could work with Raven Rock. Besides, his power grew by the day.

Miraak swung his sword, and it ripped the light in two, such a heart stopping, agonized scream echoed throughout the entire town, the light was being flooded with green and black, he grabbed it, twisting it and manipulating the soul of someone he had killed without being on the same plane of existence, and threw the soul away.

The next few moments would be terrifying to hear, as he would not remove his sword from near her neck.

In the next room over, the soul had returned to the body startling those who had apparently run to check on the scream. He grinned in satisfaction, knowing the man had grabbed a knife, slit his own throat and stabbed two of the other occupants, before being cut down by a third.

"That is what power I carry, Vorilla. Do you understand it now? You could not have saved any of those pitiful creatures."

"Do you think if I was invested in saving them that I would have made the decision to guard your life?"

He had no way of knowing, but it was only just this morning that she played with the idea of destroying all of Solstheim so he couldn't have it. Vorilla briefly closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep breath through her nose, praying for clarity and calm. She didn't know how she was going to tame Miraak. Hell, she was barely tame herself. For the sake of all living beings she sincerely hoped she could figure it out /before/ she broke him out of Apocrypha. Dragon souls are all the same, all wild, all inherently violent. His was no exception. Neither was hers. She found herself flirting with violence every day. It was an /addiction/.

"I'm going to learn the rest of your shouts, then return to Skyrim to find a scroll for Mora, and free you from Apocrypha... which was what you wanted anyway... not sure why that should upset you."

She meant well - really she did. Nothing about her expression would tell him that she had any ill intent whatsoever. The First Dragonborn had no business acting as a pawn for a sloth like Hermaeus-Mora.

"And when I am freed? How will you be certain I will not strike you down and drain every drop of power from your veins, and pillage your soul for any grain of knowledge you possess that I do not?"

His sword faded from sight and he released the spell holding her in place, he had time enough to speak to her as Mora was off dealing with a few issues apparently he had to actually focus on them.

Miraak though was still annoyed, that Mora would toss him aside for another scrap of information, though an Elder Scroll would be useful..

"And do you have any idea where you would even find a scroll Mora would accept? They are not simple things to find."

"See... that's the part I'm not so sure about. Mora agreed too easily when I presented my counter offer. I've got this bad feeling he's counting on us wiping each other out. I don't know, but I'm not sure that two Dragonborn are /supposed/ to exist at the same time. Maybe we'll be one soul after you're free'd and we'll both die if one of us dies. I'm not going to test it."

Vorilla felt his invisible hold on her body release as he put his sword away. These were small steps toward civility, but she considered them progress nonetheless.

"I don't know exactly where any scrolls are hiding, but I've read that there's more than one. Mora didn't say he cared which I brought to him." She flashed an innocent, toothy grin and shrugged her shoulders up to her ears. No, she didn't have all the answers, but...

"You know, if you know where any are and feel like pointing me in the right direction you'd be out of Apocrypha a lot faster..."

"The only advice I can offer is a name. The supposedly mad writings of a man named Signus. His first name escapes me. Beyond that, you are on your own. I shall endeavor to prepare myself for freedom, I will not hinder you further unless the urge to do so compels me."

In other words don't piss him off and he won't steal any other souls from her. He felt his grasp on the tether slipping, that stunt he had performed had cost far too much of his precious time.. Ah, well. It was well worth it to hear the screams, and now he has a new soul to add to his collection! At least now he has a promise of freedom, rather than the possibility of escape. The distinction is most welcome.

"Now I bid you farewell. I do hope you succeed, perhaps I shall bend you to my will and mould you into a worthy student.."

"Don't get any wild ideas." She grumbled through clenched teeth, her freckled cheeks flushing bright red. What a /creep/. Did he really find it necessary to violate every mind he encountered?! So help her, if he tried any of his funny business on her she would make him regret it! After all, it was only a matter of time before she knew the complete shout to bend will. He wouldn't like it at all if she turned the tables on him!

"I recognize that look in your eyes. You seek to challenge me? Then show me your knowledge you have obtained. Tell me to remove my mask, bend my will by your hand! Look me in the eyes and dominate my mind, twist my soul in your hands, learn all the forgotten magicks locked away in my mind and destroy Alduin."

He cupped her face almost tenderly before pushing her onto her back, the bed shaking from the force he could demonstrate even as a projection.

"Do you honestly think to tame me, Girl!? You do not understand. Quite literally, I know what I would need to do in order to ascend to Godhood. I am already immortal. I an all powerful Dragonborn, the First. Do you understand the primary reason as to why I failed to defeat Alduin?

I was Father's first attempt.. A failure. He gave me no prophecies to herald my coming, the only reason I was known as Dovahkiin was a Dragon telling me directly that I was a mistake! Never meant to be. I rose up to prestige and power, I broke my chains only to be shackled by another, finally, Akatosh abandoned me. You are his last, his Star In the Night. His prime, final edition. For all I've accomplished I am far beyond anything you could hope to be."

He did not quite realize how much he had locked away, but perhaps this girl stood a chance to understand, if not the gravity of who he was, then the summary.

Miraak did not waste any further time, for his was up. His projection faded away as he turned from her, returning to Apocrypha.

He left her behind with more questions than she started with, and a peculiarly tight feeling in her chest that persisted all through the night and in to the next /week/. The combination of the power behind his voice, his memories of Alduin that still haunted her consciousness, and the weight of his fleeting presence had a profound impact on her psyche. She knew she'd have to be extraordinarily careful around him when he was free or he would drive her insane.

However, nothing he said changed her mind about investigating Solsteim for the rest of the shouts he knew. If anything, his dramatic sentiments about the past made her feel a sense of confidence she'd never known on this path before. If he, the first model didn't turn out to be what Akatosh wanted, she, the /last/ model was destined to do better. Was that the true reason why he sent his cultists after her the very day the Graybeards announced her purpose? Surely Akatosh would accept Miraak with pride if he too took part in eliminating the World Eater.

* * *

Author's Note: I am trying to edit as I go along but for now I am mostly trying to get a chapter out a day, once I run out of material to post outright I will go back through what I have posted and edit it with a fine-toothed comb. I very much enjoy writing this story and want to make it as beautiful as it can be.


	5. Short Negotiations

Vorilla spent the next seven days combing through every ruin, mine, and cave for shouts Miraak was likely to know. She found the three words for Battle Fury in Vahlhok's Tomb, fragments of Cyclone in White Ridge Sanctum, Benkongerike, and Kolbjorn Barrow, and the second word for Dragon Aspect in Raven Rock Mine...

Dragon's attacked her at random in Solstheim just as they would in Skyrim. Miraak didn't turn up to steal their souls away like he did before, but she always found herself seized up with anticipation during those precious moments of absorption.

The last two words required for Bend Will evaded her, as did the final piece necessary to use Dragon Aspect at its full potential, and she had a gut feeling those words were tucked away in the depths of Apocrypha. She'd be taking a great risk by returning there now. Hermeaus-Mora wouldn't let her off so easy again. Miraak was on guard and would likely stand in her way... It just wasn't worth it.

So, Vorilla dragged her feet all the way back to Raven Rock and took the next available ship to Skyrim where she immediately hired a carriage to Riften.

Nocturnal had a prized possession she wanted to borrow... but first, she went straight home for a solid meal and a good night's sleep in her own damn bed.

Vorilla dumped her weapons and heavy knapsack in a chair beside the door once she was inside. Everything was exactly the way she remembered leaving it... minus a thin coating of dust that clung to every flat surface. Had she not reached the highest ranking possible within the Thieves Guild the place would have been picked apart in her absence.

She was methodical in her ways in spite of how long it's been since she was home. She sorted through everything she picked up on her last adventure - put all of the ingredients she found away beside the alchemy table, disenchanted every magical item she found but didn't wish to keep, and shelved /most/ of the books she found. The Black Books went into her safe for now until she could come up with a more permanent way to seal them up. Once she was organized, she peeled off her armor for a well deserved bath after over a month of marinating in the same outfit. Until she had a chance to clean her beloved Nightingale garb she opted for bare feet and simple blue robes.

While walking through the house toward the kitchen to cook herself dinner she snagged a book off the shelf called 'Dragon Language - Myth No More' by Hela Thrice-Versed. One would expect given her position that she would have already read it... but she hadn't. Perhaps if she took the time to do careful research, she could discover some of the words she was missing without word walls.

Long after all of Riften had gone to sleep, Vorilla sat at the table hugging a warm bowl of beef stew to her chest with that book in hand. Halfway through she took a break to retrieve a spare bit of parchment and quill to take notes. What she /needed/ was to go to sleep, but she was too dedicated to stop herself.

The First Dragonborn, meanwhile was dealing with the results of an irate Daedric Prince. He was being ordered to deal with menial labor that he hadn't needed to do himself in thousands of years.

" Miraak, Prepare the Sanctum of the Other Tomes, I have need of it." Only a few of the Prince's eyes were focused on him, so Miraak did not particularly feel inclined to respond.

Remaining silent, his focus left upon the book in his hands. After a moment it vanished before violently reappearing. The black mist jerked around, surprised by this act of defiance.

It would not be disobeyed though, and the book was burned to ashes, Miraak snapped his fingers and restored the books condition. This game went on some more minutes as Miraak attempted to continue reading while Mora destroyed the book in as many different ways as possible. Eventually though..

"ENOUGH!"

Lashing out, Miraak's limbs and throat were tightly bound by slimy tentacles, pulling him to the largest Eye nearby, the book thrown into the acid pits below the tall spire in which the ancient mage resided.

"You will obey! You will serve!"

The mask was ripped free of Miraak's face, being tossed aside, more, dozens more tentacles slithering over him, the mist flossing in on his face, the eyes all focused intently.

Then they were forced back.

"Fus"

With the might of a single word, his Thu'um overwhelmed the Prince. The mage floated ten feet off the ground, Mora's physical manifestation pushed away from him he flew using a cyclone to keep himself airborne, and calling forth his power to both hands blasted every eye with bolts of lightning that would turn towers to ash, Fireballs that could engulf towns, and blizzards that would freeze seas. Mora cast off all of the attacks, drawing closer with each spell cast, before Miraak opened his mouth again.

"YOL TOR SHUL!"

And thus Mora learned something, how Miraak's fire Breath could reach such high temperatures that it could turn a large tower into molten slag, and that such an attack... Hurt.

Screeching with a fury he had not held in many years, Hermaeus Mora drew forth a fair portion of his power with the skies filled with portals showing more eyes, a massive tentacle whipping out from the twisted skies above and striking down his servant before another word could be uttered. Miraak flew from the top of the spire until hundreds of long, powerful arms lashed out, knocking him around until he was slammed into the side of the tall structure with such power that he was embedded within it. Mora drew an eye closer and looked inside.

"Have you emerged from your tantrum yet, Miraak? You know you cannot defeat me here. Save your anger for someone else, someone you can harm. I expect the Sanctum to be prepared."

Miraak, shaking with effort, pulled himself out of the wall and looked directly at Mora's eye.

"Hermaeus Mora.. You're a fool.. You've given me away.."

Mora's eye blinked slowly processing that Miraak had discovered what he sought to hide from him.

"That has not yet occurred. You are still my champion. Call me a fool again though.. You will learn pain, which I have kept from you all these years. Since you held my favor."

Miraak shook his head and began healing what minor damage he took from the exchange, beings of their power only just being able to harm one another in such a short time. He was sure such a bout would have killed anyone but him.

"I shall.. Do as you command.. My Lord."

Miraak's mask slid into place as he summoned it forth, and then he snapped off to do as commanded. Mora had no idea what he's done, even if Miraak wasn't quite powerful enough to face Mora, two Dragonborn would be sufficient to fight back the greedy Daedra.

Miraak was certain that the Last Dragonborn could be convinced to help him bind Mora to his realm so that he would be unable to leave for a very long time. Then, Mora will know what Miraak has. The Prince shall pay for what he had done..

Several more days passed before Vorilla decided to pursue an Elder Scroll. She chose to beseech Arngeir at High Hrothgar for information that could help her... and he gave her the same cryptic lead that Miraak did; Seek the dingbat Septimus Signus out and press him for answers. Thankfully at least Arngeir was able to give her a general idea of where to find him

Septimus had made himself at home within the tight confines of a glacier with only a massive Dwemer contraption for company. He was an old mage, a once brilliant lost in the mind. He admitted to her that reading the Elder Scrolls was the direct cause of his madness... and yet, he encouraged her to carry on with her quest anyway. He gave her a sphere he claimed was a key, it would help attune.. something.. As well as a cube he called a 'Lexicon', and instructed her to take it to a Dwemer ruin called Alftand. There, he believed it was somehow possible to safely transcribe the text of an Elder Scroll without going blind or losing her mind. In return he expected her to bring back anything else that she finds... but she didn't plan to. Whatever he thought was useful she figured she'd make better use of. Being Dragonborn didn't define her character as benevolent.

Vorilla traveled to Alftand and barreled her way through the place until she reached her destination - the Oculory... where she remained for over an hour until she sorted out how to align it's mechanical center to reveal the Elder Scroll.

At long last she'd found it. She wrapped the brittle scroll in soft scraps of leather and carried it without opening it all the way back to Riften.

/This/ time she went out of her way to go to Apocrypha prepared for the worst. She dressed from head to toe in her Nightingale gear, and only burdened herself with multiple potions useful for restoring health, stamina, and magic. Her favored ebony sword and orcish bow came along with her as well... and with any luck, Nocturnal was watching over her to protect her from Hermeaus-Mora's fickle nature.

With nothing to lose but her soul and everything to gain, she opened the black book Epistolary Acumen in her lap on the floor and allowed it to suck her in.

Hermaeus Mora waited for her, having witnessed her recovery of the scroll. He was eager to be done with this, Miraak was growing ever more powerful thanks to his efforts on Solstheim that alluded his notice until very recently. It had been far too long since his servant had mortal followers.. And now he would be rid of him once and for all.

" Miraak, the Dragonborn has arrived with an Elder Scroll, at long last, you shall be.. Free."

The First Dragonborn bristled at the intended insult and glared heatedly towards Vorilla. She had succeeded, then. These next few moments would determine who walked away and with what they had to walk away with. If things went his way, he would win his freedom.. And perhaps be able to strike back at his soon to be former master. Oh, how his blood burned within his veins, he was so close to his goals..

"Vorilla. You were able to secure the scroll? I see my advice was well received."

Essentially claiming credit for the recovery. He wasn't entirely sure how this.. Trade odd would go down but he knew Mora would make some sort of attempt.. To interfere in his escape..

Vorilla opened her mouth to argue that it was Arngeir who gave her the better advice... but, something wasn't right. Miraak did not stand before her without his usual perfunctory edge of discontent and yet, for the very first time it did not feel to her as though he was fantasizing about swallowing her whole.

How was it then that he could still be radiating such malice?

"Yes, I have the scroll," She assured them by drawing it out for both their eyes to see, "The scroll of the Dragon."

It was then Mora struck out, a tentacle ripping the scroll from her grasp. It was his! But he quickly sent it away, touching it actually burned.. Then a tentacle lashed forth and hit Miraak, who stumbled and gasped.

She would be overcome with the sensation.. That she got after slaying a dragon..

"N-No.. You.. Treasonous.. Bastard.."

Miraak clutched his chest as his soul was literally being force fed to her! Mora was making good on his promise to give her Miraak's soul..

"V-Vorilla.. Don't.."

It was probably the first time he was at someone else's mercy besides Hermaeus Mora in thousands of years. The realization she was not educated enough to stop this made fear seize his heart.

"WAIT! PUT IT BACK!"

Vorilla scrambled out of the way as if she could avoid taking Miraak into herself even though to resist was impossible for her. She didn't want his soul all mixed up with hers. She wanted to free him from Apocrypha!

"GET IT OUT OF ME I DON'T WANT HIM LIKE /THIS/!"

Miraak was fading fast. She darted her attention back and forth between him and the great ugly blob that had betrayed them... and she didn't have the sense to hold herself back. She turned to face Mora, squared her shoulders, and shouted the full force of her Thu'um directly at the center of his tentacled mass,

"FUS RO DAH!"

By some act of fate, her power was bolstered by Miraak's, the shout so powerful, fired so fast, that the mass currently identifying as Hermaeus Mora erupted in acid and gore, exploding the opposite direction of the two Dovahkiin.

Miraak gasped as he felt the sapping of his strength fell away, his energy returning to him, though it had lessened. He jerkily stood up and looked at her, beyond the physical.. It was there. The tether he had created between them.. Was changed by Mora. It had been used to drain him away, but since that had been halted it was usurped into a bond between them, with her having the controlling end of the bonding, since it seemed his former master had fully intended to kill him here and now.

His attentions were drawn back towards where Mora had been blown away, and from the vast acidic oceans, a dozen tentacles, thicker than the spire they stood upon.

"Vorilla, if you wish to survive then you WILL listen to me, otherwise we will both belong to Mora forever!"

He ripped his mask from his face and pushed it into her hands, his face fully revealed to her. He had a shocking outcrop of strawberry blond hair, which did not match his eyes at all. One would wonder what they originally were. A glance showed they were green, like what the sky in the realm was.. But, That would have to wait for another time though, as a massive ball of black sludge covered in eyes rose up coming into view.

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Author's Note: Here is the next chapter, and yes things seem like they were a bit rushed, but to be fair there weren't all that many interactions between the two main characters, as well as how often the main quest of Skyrim has been retold time and time again. Don't worry, things will begin to slow down, at least in time progression. If you have any questions feel free to ask them.


	6. Baton Passing Off the Trouble

Author's Note: This is at the beginning of the chapter to say that I am going to be posting every few days from now on, there is only so much material to work with and it would be better not to run through it all at once right way. Besides that, this chapter is a fair bit shorter than the others but mainly because a lot happens, and I didn't want to have it go on for too long. Maybe with it taking longer for chapters to be published I will increase the length, but for now here we are. Also, be prepared, content may be graphic for some readers. Enjoy!

* * *

"I shall send you to where he has hidden the scroll, we shall need it to escape, it is vital so do not fail! My Mask shall help you through his traps and defenses! MUL QUA DIIV!"

Using Dragon Aspect he turned to the skies, inhaling what air he could and let out another shout.

"SAHROTAAR! I CALL YOU TO ME!"

He flicked his wrist at her sending her somewhere else in Apocrypha. It would have to be up to him to do battle with Mora.

And off she went, sprinting in the direction he aimed her as she worked to pull off her hood and replace it with his mask. She'd never worn anything like it - nothing so heavy and suffocating. The slits carved in its front for eyes were too narrow to provide what was needed for uninhibited vision and it stunk heavily of Apocrypha, but alas, the enchantment within it was better than casting a clairvoyance spell. It didn't matter that she didn't know where she was going. Her intended path was laid out to her with a shining, constant stream of light clear as day that wound her through Mora's tricky labyrinth of books with ease.

Impressive new strength rushed through her veins that she'd never known but experienced before - accidentally taken from the Dragonborn she meant to free from this wicked place unharmed... power she could have lived without. What she had of his soul muddied her otherwise clear conscience and filled her with guilt. Every other soul she'd ever taken was earned. This was different. At least she didn't end up with /all/ of it.

Miraak's mask showed her the way to a tall, spindly tower far East of where he was fighting his battle against Mora. Lurkers guarded it's base in deep pools of black toxic goo, but she didn't bother wasting any time fighting them. Her Nightingale armor and the skills she'd gained serving the Thieves Guild made it possible for her to sneak around them to reach the stairs. She found the Elder Scroll resting alone on a marble pedestal at the top of the spire, carefully rolled it back up in leather and fastened it to her belt, turned around and... had no clue what she should do next.

She didn't need to contemplate her next actions very long, as the tower suddenly crashed, the upper half beginning to collapse. The FIrst Dragonborn rose from rubble glancing at her, suddenly launching towards her and casting a ward around them.

The tower collapsed down upon them, or it would have if a swirling whirlpool of black muck didn't begin tearing it away up into the sky, Miraak hid her behind him as he strengthened the DragonScale Ward, the most powerful one he had the time to cast.

Hermaeus Mora, in the form he now took that stood in the eye of this hurricane was a massive Lurker, it was an unspeakable abomination that was even more foul than the standard lurkers found within Apocrypha.

"Vorilla.. Read the scroll, pray to Father- Akatosh! He is the only one who could reach this far into Oblivion!"

The monstrous being rose a hand and a river of sludge spewed forth, blasting the shield the two Dragonborn hid within. The elder of the two grunted, sweat building on his brow. Hands, tentacles, and other various limbs slapped and grabbed at the shield, which was shrinking rapidly.

"PRAY DAMN YOU!"

Vorilla cursed and dropped to her knees to fumble with the scroll. Her grip wasn't steady given how wholly nervous she was, but she succeeded at rolling it out in her hands. What she saw inside dissolved her vision with bright light. Strange shaped and symbols, words written in a language she didn't understand. It didn't make any sense!

He stole a look back, seeing her looking into the scroll. He tugged on the bond between them and used her voice to speak, it was their only chance. His own body couldn't move, focused on maintaining the ward protecting them.

"Akatash, Father of Time, of Dragons, of we, Born of your Blood, I bid thee.. Save us! Your children plea for your aid, Oblivion seeks to swallow us! Please! Please! Father!"

The shield shrank further and Miraak slipped, it was cracking under the onslaught. He was shaking, and shivering as his power began drying up. The short battle and the incident of losing a sizable fraction of his power was showing now. Even he could only hold out so long against a Daedric Prince while inside of their own realm.

"F-Father.. Please.."

Just as the shield shattered, he heard a majestic roar that echoed through his mind.

A Glimmering, Golden light grew behind him. The mass of sludge was being held back by an unseen force, and as he picked himself up weakly looking, he saw standing over Vorilla was a Golden, luminescent Dragon that was growing larger, equalling the size of Mora's form quickly.

"YOU! YOU TRESPASSER, DEFILER, THIEF!"

The.. Dragon did not speak. Its tail gently pushed Miraak to Vorilla and looked at them both before it turned to face The wrath of Hermaeus Mora, it launched forwards, jaws primed to snap shut around the throat, but a punch knocked it aside and instead the Dragon hooked its claws into the Incarnation of Mora's chest, wings beating, lifting Mora out off the surface of Apocrypha, before dropping him back down. The resulting tidal wave of Acid was blocked with a shield by Miraak, who had grabbed the glowing scroll and Vorilla, the only thing protecting them from this battle between titans.

Miraak was somewhat impressed by the two of them to say the least. That was the kind of power he felt he could throw around, in his prime condition. If not that then.. Comparable.

"We must go, I believe the scroll is our escape from here. Father is covering our escape.."

Miraak was.. Pathetic. At least, comparing the man before her to who she had seen in the past encounters. He was dirty and somewhat bloodied. He looked at her, weary. He had lost his ally, Salrohtaar, and had been drained of a portion of his power, and had faced an enraged Hermaeus Mora. This had been a very long day.. He had forgotten what it was to be human.. Which he felt for the first time in many, many years.

Was Akatosh really her father? Vorilla lifted her eyes from the scroll to peer through the barrier of Miraak's mask and the haze that clouded her vision. A mighty golden dragon ahead keeping Mora at bay... was that him? The one and only? It was difficult for her to accept this surreal moment as true reality. What a shame they couldn't hang around to witness this battle until the very end.

"Alright, alright," She agreed, wishing that she didn't have to look at that bloody scroll again. Miraak was a mess, but at least he could /see/ properly. Shoulders slumped, Vorilla forced herself to look down at that blinding knowledge which she did not understand...

The scroll worked precisely the same way as the black books always did, although it was likely only to function as a means for transport just this once, a gift from Akatosh perhaps. This time when Vorilla returned to the safety of Honeyside she brought the First Dragonborn along with her...

An awful quiet followed. Vorilla could feel and smell that she was standing in her living room next to her safe, but her vision was nothing but a blur... Until she realized the confusion was caused by the mask still stuck to her face.

"Oh, this /thing/." She pulled it off at once and shook out her hair. Yes, her eyes were slightly damaged, but not as badly as she initially thought. She would definitely recover. Miraak on the other hand looked... not like himself. She held out his mask and waited for him to take it without saying another word.

Miraak sat panting slightly before casting a few restoration spells on himself, before grabbing the mask and casting a spell on it, the mask crumbling into s ball of misshapen metal, then he cast a fire spell on it, the metal heating and turning to slag. Finally he banished the thing, it disappeared without a trace.

"It is a long forgotten and dead symbol. I have no further use for it. Beyond that, Mora could likely trace me or watch me through it, and I owe him nothing now. In fact, I shall have to destroy all of this attire, so find me fitting replacements, Dragon Scale would be fitting, a light armor blend with the range of movement robes offer."

He began stripping of the disgusting and worn clothing he had worn in Apocrypha, every thread was tainted and he did not wish to wear such clothing any longer.

"GODS!" Vorilla promptly smacked her hands over her eyes before she saw anything she didn't intend to see. Had he no shame?! "You can't just take your clothes off in front of me - What is the /matter/ with you?"

She stormed off without giving him the opportunity to reply, bumping into the doorway with her elbows on her way out.


	7. The Comfort of Home Or Homely Discomfort

Honeyside wasn't a very large home, not that Vorilla ever had a reason to care. She had it fully furnished the same day she purchased it. The kitchen and living room were combined, her bedroom was off to the side, and everything else was down in the basement. She rarely spent more than a few nights there per month, but whenever she came home it was always to drop off extra weight from her travels - books, potions, food, and yes, clothing too... but she didn't take clothing or armor from the dead. She only had one thing in her wardrobe that would fit him.

"This will have to do for now," She sighed as she walked back into the room, one hand covering her eyes while the other gripped a men's stack of gray fine garb. She set it all down on the table and politely turned her back to him, glaring daggers at the wall. If this was Nocturnal's idea of luck, she wasn't so sure she wanted to be a Nightingale anymore. She was so embarrassed!

"There is a wash basin in the basement."

"I shall expect your servants down there to bathe me momentarily."

He took the clothing and went downstairs, believing she must reside within a castle, or a keep, or some such. After a few moments he sighed and washed himself, disappointed in her so far but it could be forgiven due to what they had just gone through.. It was an ordeal unlike any other. The Avatar of Akatosh invading Oblivion to save his last two children.

"I am annoyed with you but you have one chance to explain yourself."

It seemed without the mask he was far less intimidating...

Vorilla was seated at the table upstairs when he came back up after cleaning and dressing himself. She had a bottle of spiced wine in one hand, an apple in the other, and a very sour look on her face.

As if she had any need for someone other than herself to be present while she bathed! Who - /what/ had been washing him in Apocrypha?! She had to consciously remind herself that this was his second chance at living life. He should have whatever he wants if he can get it... save for world domination. Maybe then if he was content he would be more agreeable.

"I don't have any reason to keep men's clothing in my house. I am a woman and nothing I own would fit you. That outfit was here when I bought the place," She began in an even tone and set her apple down, "I have the means for more than this, but I'm never home. I'm always... /questing/."

That last word tasted like vinegar as she said it. Everywhere she went there was someone who wanted the Dragonborn's assistance. It was her purpose to slay the winged beasts that plagued Skyrim after all.

" I've got a nice collection of Dragon bones and scales down in the basement. If that's what you really want, I'll craft your armor in the morning. If it's a bigger house you want, there's always Proudspire Manor in Solitude."

"There is no point in allowing you free reign to design what I shall be seen in. If you have the materials I can shape them how I need them and do it myself. You must be joking, a house? Peasants survive living in shacks like this.. We are gods, Vorilla. We thrive within our keeps, our castles, our kingdoms. Have you no pride? What measly, pathetic hut you have found here, it simply will not do. As soon as I have completed my attire I will be seeking out servants and begin to show you how to live comfortably."

Moving around the table he took the bottle from her, sniffing it before using a spell, a cup appearing in his hands he poured some of the wine into it and sampled it lightly, and immediately gasped, his eyes going wide.

It was unlike anything else.. The taste was heavenly.. He refrained from any other outward reaction, but he wanted to shout to the heavens, he was alive.. And was just beginning to remember what that meant.

Vorilla propped her elbow up on the edge of the table and dropped her chin into her palm as she listened to him go on about how they 'should' live. She didn't expect him to want to stick around once he was free to do as he pleased, but it didn't sound like he wanted to go his own way. She was stuck with him, and he was already determined to turn her home life upside down. At least after a bath and a change of clothes he looked more civilized - severely out of character though..

Two hours ago, the two of them almost died! Guilt still gripped her over what had transpired only a few hours ago. Was it possible to give what she'd absorbed of his soul back? Probably not.

Oh, what had she /done/?!

Hermaeus-Mora wouldn't let this go if he survived Akatosh. Her actions between Solsteim and Oblivion - saving Miraak like a sap was going to cost her dearly. She was going to have to learn to share everything... and somehow keep Miraak from causing too much trouble.

"I happen to /like/ my little house. I am content /without/ servants waiting around to wipe my ass and clean up after me. Forgive me if my home is too humble for you!" Ruffled, she leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed and jutted out her bottom lip. Too many feelings at once swirled around in her head and heart. Would tomorrow be harder than today?!

"I didn't /have/ to choose to free you, you know. I certainly didn't go through the effort to have you insult me in my own house. If it's more you want, you'll have it, but don't be so rude about it. It's /ugly/."

The First Dragonborn stared her down before showing his teeth in a twisted grin, slowly draining his cup of wine, he walked towards the door to return to the basement.

"You seem to be much more aggressive defending what is yours than I thought. Perhaps you carry the blood of dragons after all. What you fail to realize though, is that you are a servant. All by your own hands. Why help others, when you could take over a militia and organize them to help themselves? You have failed to realize you hold a claim over the Ruby Throne. As Dragonborn, you could challenge the Emperor and people would support you. People would follow you, worship the very ground you walk upon. If that does not excite you, makes your blood burn at the thought, if you are content with this place, so be it. I have much to do now that I have returned and the first step I shall take will be to end this civil war that rages ever onwards."

Miraak strode downstairs, looking for the Dragon bones and Scales.

"It's the middle of the night, you know!"

Vorilla stared at the back of him until he was out of her sight. He knew about the war? How would he stop it? They'd literally have to level the Thalmor embassy to the ground /and/ assassinate Ulfric Stormcloak without the Imperial's losing their heads. General Tulius would be an obstacle...

All of that sounded like a whole lot of responsibility she wasn't interested in. Killing Alduin was already going to be a major task. Why should she want to rule over Skyrim too?

She simply didn't know any better. Power might suit her, but she's never had a reason to want much more than she already had. She's only been on the path of a Dragonborn for a few months and before that... She /still/ couldn't remember a thing.

"Bah..." She gave up on thinking altogether and walked to her room, changed into her comfy blue robe, and crawled into sleep. A less than ideal thing about Honeyside was that unless she was willing to sacrifice her Alchemy table, there was only /one/ double bed in the whole house. Miraak would have to figure himself out on his own. Maybe - if she was lucky, he didn't need sleep to live.

Miraak had not needed to sleep in a very long time, and did not intend to begin doing so again. Having drunk a few potions he healed himself fully and restored his magicka reserves, and would sustain himself off of that.

He riffled through her belongings collecting the dragon bones and Scales he would need, and began shaping them using ancient magic. The bones formed a chestplate and wrist guards, the scales becoming an extra layer of protection underneath. Then the scales were sewn into the threads and weaved into place of the robes, and he used a spell to strengthen and ward the robe so it would not burn or wear out anywhere near as quickly.

He fashioned boots that fit comfortably, and made sure they were plated with bone as well were he to need to kick something. He noticed she had gold as well and using the last of the bone and the gold, he shaped a crown that would protect his head relatively well, but had forgone a mask as it was not the time for such a thing again. The bone inlaid golden crown was magnificent, and would serve him well to convey all he met of what he was, his blood was more noble than anyone else's save Vorilla, and that was due to her currently having some control over him, however limited it was.

The last thing he needed was a weapon. He saw spare daggers of ebony and shaped those to more closely resemble the ancient Dragon Priest style, and he finally felt dressed for the first time in.. Hours.

It had become morning, his work going well into the night leaving him little to do beyond browse what books The Last Dragonborn kept.

Vorilla didn't wake feeling rested like she usually did. Every time she slipped away into dreamland she was met with horrifying reenactments of her last visit to Apocrypha, and each time she startled awake she half expected to see Miraak looming overhead.

Early in the morning when the sun first began to rise over the horizon a dense fog filled the streets of Riften that was visible through the kitchen window. Days always began like this here - gloom and haze, the voices of people. Vorilla rolled out of bed then and headed for the kitchen to make something for breakfast. The girl was thin and fit, but oh, how she /loved/ to eat.

Miraak sat in a seat nearby with a book in his hands and he looked…

"Ostentatious, aren't we?" She chortled. The armor was admirable and impressive, but a crown? She might have openly teased him for it if it didn't look appropriate. Anything was better than that hideous mask!

"Your selection of reading material is far smaller than it should be. Before I head north I will have to find something interesting to reread for the journey."

He flipped the page, eyes shooting across the pages, darting back and forth. He eventually looked at her when she sat down to eat a morning meal.

"I could teach you what you needed to sustain yourself off of your magicka if you would like. You would not need to degrade yourself to consume physical sustenance like lesser creatures. We are above them."

Miraak closed the book and sat, looking as regal as anyone could be. He wasn't sure what her goals were but he was certain they would need serious work, she had no organisational systems for her home so her head was likely to be the same. His steady hand and wisdom would guide her.

"HAH!" Vorilla threw back her head and cackled like a bird. There were a lot of practices she'd be willing to adopt. Giving up food would never be one of them. A world without tasty things to eat would be miserable!

"You're out of your mind if you think I'll ever give up eating. Nothing beats a warm belly full of mead and stew, but... you go ahead and keep choking down your potions. More food for me that way."

Still laughing, she turned her back on him to prepare herself a plate of apple dumplings and scrambled eggs. All the ingredients she needed were right there in a barrel next to the cooking pot and oven.

Miraak watched unamused before he stood, a bag slung on his back.

"What are your plans? How shall you defeat Alduin, and what will you be doing next?"

The First Dragonborn crossed his arms, he was impatient, he wanted to see blue skies and taste fresh air, feel the sunlight.. It was being delayed by this infuriating brat wasting his time talking about food. He hadn't eaten in thousands of years and was perfectly fine.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure about Alduin," She began, hands hard at work preparing the next best breakfast ever, "I've only laid eyes on him twice. The first time was... it's hard to explain. I don't remember anything about life before the first time I saw him. I was a bound prisoner next in line for the chopping block in Helgen when Alduin showed up. I escaped while he burned the village down to the ground."

Vorilla paused to stick the dumplings into the oven. She shifted to the left a step, cracked a few eggs into the cooking pot with a splash of milk and salt and started stirring. The sweet smell of sugared apples was already heavy in the air.

"The second time I saw him he was resurrecting a Dragon from its grave on a hill. I was with this insulting woman, Delphine. She's a... something about the Blades? I don't care much for anything she has to say. She honestly believes the Thalmor are responsible for the Dragons returning to Skyrim."

Eggs scrambled and dumplings baked, Vorilla carried her plates to the table and sat down to eat - eggs first. The dumplings were still piping hot to put in her mouth.

"The Greybeards have been the most helpful. They mark my map with all the places I can find new shouts and they're good at keeping out of politics."

"I will be drawing up maps of all of the most prominent Cities of the past for you, Seek out the words, once you have found all of these find dragons and make their power your own. Once you have the knowledge of the words seek me out and I shall train you, your education is pitiful."

Miraak summoned parchment and a quill from somewhere in the house, and began sketching a map of Skyrim, marking the modern day Hold Capitals and cross referencing it to provide the locations of another dozen and a half Nordic ruins, and still adding to it.

"These are as many as I can recall that guarded sacred knowledge of the dragons. Learn all you can and be sure to write it down, there is much that modern men and mer have to learn from The Dovah. I shall journey forth to meet these Greybeards, then head to Windhelm, and from there Solitude. Provide me with a key to your holdings there and I shall reside there for the duration of my stay."

"But - " Vorilla dropped her fork with a look of sheer terror on her face and her heart stop. After Akatosh allowed him so live she seriously doubted he wanted him off on his own - not after the crimes he committed the last time he had free will..

"I want you to stay with me." Was that entirely true? Fat chance... but she was positive it was her moral obligation.

Miraak chose not to express his reaction, instead staring at her intently. He tapped a finger on the table for a moment trying to decide what her angle was. He ruled out attraction or lust- he was too old for her and he had thus far been as infuriating as possible. Was it her morals or ethics? She should know he wasn't bound by such pathetic excuses for keeping useless people alive, so why would she try to stop him? Did she honestly believe she could even do so?

"Why?"

"Why shouldn't I?" She fired back with a darling little smile, ignoring her stress to play her part. She wouldn't have to lie to give him good reasons either... although it was hard to keep a straight face with him standing there staring her down. Now that she had to make eye contact with him - now that his mask robbed him of his humanity, she was starting to find him hard to look at. He was the only other living being of her kind, and her soul had still not lost its desire to clash with his... Shame that battle would never come to pass, but she'd settle for ruffling his feathers from time to time.

"Because I know for a fact you can teach me all the shouts I need faster than it would take me to travel all over Skyrim. Because I think it would be /fun/ to drop some Dragons and plow through obstacles with someone else who actually knows what they're doing. Because I would enjoy helping to end the war and whatever else it is you think you have to do. Everything will happen faster if we're together and that means Alduin will die sooner."

The First Dragonborn allowed a short and dry chuckle to escape him, but there was now humor in it or on his face. He raised an upward facing palm and lit a small flame, then in the other hand conjured a barely contained inferno that licked the ceiling.

"This is a comparison of us. If I were to train and teach you, I will make you wish you had faced dragons and ruins and tombs. I will make you /know/ each and every word to my satisfaction, defined and physically. I will teach you Force. I will teach you Fire. I shall teach you Power. But to know any of them, to truly know, you will be forced to endure them being used against you, using them against others, I will not show you mercy, for in Mind, in Blood, Our very Souls we are Dov. I shall push your body to its limits to meet the standards I set, you will become stronger, faster, greater. But everything comes with a price. It is your decision, if you wish to accompany me or seek out your own path. I will not hold your hand and offer comforting words."

He turned away to head downstairs to continue his preparations to leave, he still had to enchant this new armor. As he stood in the doorway he paused glancing partially back.

"I know in my heart that if you wanted me dead It would be so. If it had not been for your presence, Father would not have answered my plea. It seems as his Star in the Night you hold a special place in his heart. I will endeavor not to destroy what you are but I cannot promise you will not change under my tutelage. Keep that in mind."

And then he walked away, always one to have the last word.

Vorilla ate what remained of her breakfast in complete silence. She mulled over everything Miraak had to say until her throat felt tight and she could no longer comfortably swallow her food. He made learning through him sound so... heavy. She wanted to believe he used strategic language just to try and frighten her - not that she was as afraid as she probably should have been, but it wouldn't have mattered it she was scared out of her wits. She could not under any circumstances let him leave her, for she'd never forgive herself if he wreaked havoc on Skyrim. She'd have no one but herself to blame.

So, Vorilla suited back up in her Nightingale armor and began her own preparations. All of her gold would travel with them, she packed enough food to keep herself going for several days. Down in the basement she headed straight by Miraak at the enchanting table to put together her most favored potions at the alchemy table.

"I /am/ coming with you." She cast a sidelong glance at him from over her shoulder, seemingly relaxed, "I change every day."

In his hand he drew forth.. A soul. The soul of a dragon. He used it to enchant one of his gloves, giving it the ability to focus and condense fire when he summons it, then repeated the process with his other glove for lightning. Each of his boots were enchanted with dual Fire and Frost resistance, and his Chest Piece was given a powerful Enchantment that fortified its durability. Finally, the crown was given an Enchantment that would increase his magicka reserves a fair amount.

"Did you know the lost arts of Blacksmithing magic is incredibly useful when applied to dragonbone? It uses magicka to shape the material, yes, leaving it without flaws. But it also condenses and thickens it, making it occupy less space and be much harder to break. This chest piece could withstand more damage than anything even I could throw at it, and it hardly took any effort to create."

He did not mention how much magicka it used up, or how many potions he drank afterwards. Nor did he mention how he had to use souls to shape the bone… It generally had a small influence on the design.

"Ever since you first appeared before me, I have collected only a few Dragon Souls, something I believed I might never get the chance to do. Now, my new attire has been shaped and enhanced by Dragons. But enough on my immense power, I will begin your training the first night after we leave this place."

Miraak waved a hand at the wash basin, the water moving in a flat shape in front of him them solidifying into solid ice, a smooth clear surface reflecting his image so he could make small adjustments.

Vorilla had to force herself to tear her attention away from him despite how fascinated she was by his use of magic. What a show off! No one at the mages guild had /anything/ on him... or maybe they did and they were better at keeping it to themselves. Personally, she'd never seen her own reflection in decent clarity. There were moments she caught a glimpse of herself on the surface of a pool of water. She knew she had red hair and green eyes, but she was unaware of how prominent the scar was along the side of her face. She didn't even know she had freckles... and it didn't matter. How she looked wasn't important. The world and everyone alive only cared about her Dragonborn status.

Now as she carried on with her potion making, she wondered if she was as hideous as an Argonian.

"I have two without new shouts to assign them to that I gathered in Solstheim. You should take a few for yourself... I know a spot where dragons fly by every third day just outside of Whiterun." What she didn't mention was that she found this information out the hard way. Every damn time she crossed that sweet spot one of the beasts swooped down to challenge her, and it was in that very area that she took a tooth to the face.

"Anyway, I think I'm finished here. Unless you have a reason to linger, there's no reason why we should stay."

Vorilla turned away from the alchemy table and headed for the stairs. Perhaps this would be the last time she'd ever visit Honeyside. Should Miraak insist that she settle somewhere else she'd consider giving it up to the Thieves Guild as a safe house.

"We shall be off then. I cannot imagine any reason to remain here when we have a limited amount of time. Its likely because you've encountered him twice that Alduin hasn't wiped everything out.. We are lucky in that instance but the moment he realizes you have gained my aid towards his defeat his actions will become less predictable. The worst case scenario is him going to Sovngarde and consuming all of the souls there before returning to kill us both."

He had only a small bag with him but he seemed prepared. He pulled out a bottle and checked its contents before storing it away again and then took a few books, stuffing them inside as well.

"Would you like for me to use some storage magic on your bag? The dwemer used it in their machines, it was utterly fascinating to examine those so long ago. Combining magic and their mechanics was innovative and perhaps not so difficult as modern men and mer imagine."

He turned towards her, looking every bit the part of a King or grand General, acting as if all of the things he knew were more commonplace. He had forgotten what it was like, being around those who didn't know nearly as much as himself, after all.

Vorilla halted on the steps and arched a brow toward him. He knew Dwemer magic too? She supposed that shouldn't be such a big surprise. Whatever he didn't learn during his last life he would have studied in depth in Apocrypha... but his offer made her uneasy. He was being too... cooperative for someone who wanted to kill her.

"Maybe another time. It's really not that heavy. No offense, but I try not to cut corners when I don't have to - won't get any stronger that way."

What was he planning to do if she let him go off on his own? What scheme was she interrupting? She shrugged her shoulders and finished walking up the stairs.

"Do you know how to ride a horse?"

Now it was his turn for his brow to arch, and nodded. He sighed when he realized how incomplete her training was... And how much a task he has ahead of him if they wanted to kill Alduin. She was going to be annoying to drag around Skyrim But it would be well worth the effort at the end of it all, when he can manipulate her state of mind to ignore everything he did so taking over the world would be easier.

"Are you quite aware of the power I wield? And perhaps you will not get stronger 'cutting corners' but I have no such limitations on myself. I already went through my trials. I am going to create a portal to the top of the Throat of The World. Follow or travel, I will see you there one way or another."

He held his hands own, fingers curling and twisting his wrists a hole appeared in reality. Fierce, icy winds blasted out of it with snow and he stepped through without waiting for her answer. His thoughts drew to if she would follow him or not.. He wondered how angry she would be if he just closed the portal before she could follow, if she decided to do so...

The Portal began shrinking.

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And here we are, the next chapter. Pretty tame for the majority of it, discussions and preparations as the two Dragonborn try to fit into this new mold that has been made! This chapter is a fair bit longer than the last few. Anyhow, the next chapter probably won't be posted until Wednesday, so look out for it. Anyway, if you have any questions feel free to ask away.


	8. Lessons, Confrontations, Revelations

Here is a short note before the chapter, this one is a fair bit longer, and has quite a lot happening in it. If something seems a bit odd feel free to leave your opinion, perhaps it can be worked on and edited. This story has not gone through much proof-reading yet, but it'll get there. Also sorry about the delay, though tecnically Im only about five minutes late posting this.. by my time anyhow. Enjoy the chapter!

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Of /course/ she'd follow him. What choice did she have? He could have been lying about his destination and she'd never know if she didn't chase after him - dive in this case, because the portal started to close in on itself as soon as he passed through it.

Vorilla hopped over the side of the steps and jumped into the portal before it was gone. She was /seething/ when she popped up on the other side, tumbling through. She hit the snow headfirst and had to somersault forward to land gracefully. Hair askew, face flushed red, she looked like she would explode.

"DAMMIT, Miraak! Don't DO that!"

He had walked farther away, towards the Dragon that sat atop a word wall. It was barely a second after she spoke that he was engulfed in flames, the snow being stirred up. Once it ended Miraak set Paarthurnax aflame with his own Voice.

"Drem Yol Lok, Paarthurnax. It has been.. A very long time since we last saw one another."

The dragon looked between the two Dovahkiin and nodded.

"Indeed. You seem to have come directly here, You have turned against Alduin as well?"

Miraak finally glanced back at Vorilla he let a smirk slide into place. Turning to face the Elder Dov again, he pulled the elder scroll from his bag.

"Yes. We have business here, and I remember this having some use. Was it this Kel that the Joor used here ages ago to cast Alduin into Time's breath?"

Paarthurnax looked intrigued and nodded, unaware of just how knowledgeable Miraak was on such matters. The scroll was held out to The Last Dragonborn, and The First Pointed her towards the distortion in the air.

"We shall read the scroll within that distortion and watch the events unfold that led to Alduin arriving just as you arrived in Skyrim."

Vorilla resisted the strongest urge to drive her fist into Miraak's nose when she took the scroll. This wasn't the first and won't be the last time she fantasized about hurting him - she knew, and yet she also knew how foolish it would be to strike him. Not even Partharaax would be pleased with the confrontation that would surely follow.

"Fine." She agreed to the task through clenched teeth, almost smiling. Oh, how she loved to despise him.

Ahead was indeed a strange distortion hanging in the air that looked like blueish heat with no source. She strolled into the very spot, unrolled the scroll, and waited to look upon it until Miraak was there to read with her.

He approached her, preparing himself for what they were about to do. They would be essentially travelling in time, back to the moment this rift occurred.. And Alduin would be there. Not in the same form the remembered him in.. No, this was against weak, pathetic Joor. Mortals, Men. They would only have seen a weakened and condensed version of Alduin.

"Let us read the scroll, and prepare ourselves. This is going to be an interesting experience.. Something no one has ever done before."

He steadied himself and looked upon the scroll, enhancing his mental fortitude, knowing he had to be careful otherwise he would go blind. And while that would not be impossible for him to overcome, it would hinder him slightly. This was the moment of truth, to see how Alduin was outsmarted.. They needed this information before they moved on to Windhelm.

Both Vorilla and Miraak were assaulted by white blinding light as their consciousnesses were transported to the past - to the same place they were standing far before at least Vorilla's existence.

Their vision was limited to an experience akin to looking through a glass lens, peripherally red and complicated with the edges of unfamiliar symbols. Three people stood where they were, although they wouldn't notice the two Dragonborn. Two of them warriors, Hakon and Gormlaith were just finishing slaying a nameless dragon. Alduin had not yet arrived as they had hoped by creating so much mayhem. They had a plan to expose him to a new shout they called 'Dragonrend' to bring him down from the sky, and if that didn't work, Feldir would use the Elder Scroll to banish him from Skyrim altogether.

When Alduin did come, the three brave mortals shouted together to bring him down to their level. Vorilla gained understanding of the Dragonrend shout simultaneously,

Joor Zah Frul

(Mortal Finite Temporary)

It wasn't enough. While it succeeded in keeping Alduin down where they could reach him they weren't powerful enough to destroy them. He warned that he would devour their souls in Sovngarde just as Miraak had mentioned before. Gormlaith didn't last long after that, Hakon couldn't hold his own, and then /finally/ Feldir read from the scroll and banished the World Eater to... well, Vorilla didn't know, but it didn't sound specific enough. Obviously it wasn't. All Feldir managed to do was send him forward through time to her present day.

This was all the scroll had to show them before the bright light flooded their vision again and their consciousnesses returned to the now. Vorilla quickly rolled the scroll back up and tucked it under her arm.

"Gods, may I never have to look upon this thing again!" Three was plenty enough for one lifetime wasn't It? She hissed and rubbed the heels of her palms into her burning eye sockets. The white of wind and snow surrounding them wasn't helping.

"Dragonrend is not so different from Bend Will." Truthfully, Bend Will had far more uses than Dragonrend. Why didn't Miraak destroy Alduin back in his day anyway?

"Follow me."

Miraak stepped towards the word wall, Paarthurnax climbing down and walking around so he could have a view of what was about to unfold. The First Dragonborn, assuming Vorilla had followed, proceeded to ignite a flame on the tip of his fingers.

He then carved into the Black stone in the dragon language, three words,

GOL HAH DOV.

"Earth, Mind, Dragon. The Bend Will shout.. Is powerless."

He carved several other words into the stone, FUS, YOL, FEIM, WVULD, and more. Each one having different uses.

"Words of Power.. Are meaningless. To most people they are part of a language, a dead one at that. However, to you, and I, and to the Dov.. They hold meaning. HAH!"

Using the Shout, the second out of Bend Will rather than the first, Mind, or its alternate meaning, Focus, or Willpower, it held various meanings. He looked and gestured around.

"Observe the lack of effect. Now, were a mortal standing here with us, I would have been able to grab their focus, draw their attention, or even shatter their mind. The Thu'um holds many secrets, the primary being Intent, in what you wish to accomplish. Willpower, the Desire to succeed beyond a doubt, and finally Knowledge, knowing what you must to accomplish what you need. Generally you, and even I back in my day, slew the Dovah and drew forth their essence in order to tap into their understanding of a certain word. But in my studies I learned of your Greybeards, and they made me consider their paths. Learning a word of power through meditation, through understanding, may not be as direct, but it opens up pathways to power I never considered. Because no Dragon had ever thought: What if we did it differently?"

Miraak extinguished the fire on his fingers and ran his hands over all of the words in the black stone. They glowed with molten heat and power, and he grinned.

"Shouts are generally restricted to three words, but as a language Dragons can speak full sentences as any man could speak in their languages. Next, the Dragons are stubborn, arrogant, and set in their ways. They live for thousands of years, why should they change? They are the Apex beings in this world.

You must understand that they are wrong.

You and I, we are the Peak. The Apex. Alpha and Omega. The most supreme beings that have ever been chosen to walk upon this World.

And it means nothing if we choose to act as Dragons. Or as Mortals. We are both, Vorilla. So, you, and this ancient, worn patch of bone and leather beside you, must keep an open mind when you watch what I am about to demonstrate."

Miraak walked towards the edge of the mountain, then faced the tip, the true Throat of the World, and /Shouted/

"GOL FUS YOL!"

The world trembled before the tip of the mountain erupted, a massive pillar of Fire and Lava erupting upwards and outwards.

"WUULD RO FUS!"

A mighty whirlwind of snow and air was conjured, spinning forth and capturing the fire and Lava. The typhoon's eye was a vortex of death, and when Miraak sensed, saw, and heard the Black Wings Unfurled, he turned furiously and shouted again.

"YOL YAH DOV!"

The massive whirlwind of fire and doom was cast towards Alduin, who had arrived to challenge those who would dare try to do so.

Of course, this powerful force of nature, created by the First Dragonborn impacted Alduin, catching and throwing him about, until a terrible scene happened. Alduin stopped, and roared a single word, and in a mighty wave of air and force the Whirlwind was dissipated. It left Miraak stunned, he hadn't expected Alduin to appear, and not even his most valuable skill was able to do a thing!?

Vorilla looked on amazed, her soul filling to the brim with a lust for power she's never known before. How could she not admire Miraak for taking his skills so far? To think, it was possible to string so many shouts together at once!

However, the thrill went up in smoke when Alduin flew in and shouted it away so easily. History was already close to repeating itself again.

"Shadows guide me..."

Vorilla muttered a short prayer to Nocturnal under her breath and drew out her bow. They'd need all the luck they can get. The Dragonrend shout would be a great start, but without the ability to banish him from Skyrim escape would be a safer bet than trying to defeat him.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

Paarthurnax took to the skies and roared, a burning blast of fire rushing forth, and Miraak summoned two Atronarchs, of Fire and Storm. They began launching bolts and fireballs at the World eater, while Miraak sent forth his own attacks, firing off a few shouts.

"VORILLA! Remember my lesson!"

He only hoped they would survive this.. They were the last hope of Tamriel. All that stood between the end and it weighed on him, the realization that he might die only to be consumed by Alduin.. It was almost humbling.

"And do not fail me! FUS YOL WVULD!"

Another cyclone of fire was launched forth, smaller and more focused this time. It was swept aside by a gust of wind as Alduin beat his wings.

Vorilla's Dragonrend shout bullied Alduin to meet them on the ground with a crash. Out of all the dragons she's had to face he was the most sinister in appearance. The memories Miraak planted in her mind resurfaced as soon as she laid eyes on him properly... death carried on black wings, he was a living nightmare.

"STRUN BAH QO!"

Clouds closed in over the frozen mountain carrying heavy rain and rolling with thunder. Dense fog filled the air as a direct result of melting snow all around them, which wouldn't be an issue for Miraak or Partharaax. Grounded as he was, Alduin would struggle to know when to dodge the random bolts of lightning that struck down from overhead. Vorilla took aim with her bow and fired straight at his face from a safe distance again, and again, and again while Miraak and Partharaax threw their own attacks at him... and he didn't die. He took damage, he bled, and he still thrashed and blew fire at them as he clung to life.

Miraak rose a hand, summoning three Daedra that rushed towards Alduin, stabbing and slashing the World Eater, and then unleashed a massive torrent of Arcane and Dragonfire, the blast clashing and overwhelming Alduin who was bathed in the flames.. And still he did not die.

It was then that the Dragonrend shout decided to expire.. And Alduin took to the skies, shouting.

Rocks began to rain down, catching their attempts to strike him further, and he flew away, retreating before he was caught on the ground yet again. Miraak thought quickly, and summoned his two allies,

"Kruziikrel zlil los dii du!

Relonikiv zlil los dii du! Follow! Hunt! Chase, give him no rest!"

The two dragons roared into action flying as fast as their wings could carry them.

Vorilla lowered her bow and exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding. Usually she didn't break a sweat when she fought against dragons, but a thin sheen had beaded up across her brow and she was exhausted. She'd gone through a full quiver of arrows. Alduin was different than the rest. He was /impossible/.

She watched with weary eyes as Kruziikrel and Relonikiv swooped in to chase him away... and didn't think it would be any use to waste any more energy throwing attacks his at him. He'd probably flee to Sovngarde and devour the dead to recharge before he came after them again - not that that was a good thing, but apparently they'd need more time to sort out a definite way to eliminate him.

"Well... damn."

"He has.. Fled. This bodes well for us, as long as those two give chase he will have no chance to fully recover, we have bought ourselves more time. We must be on our way soon, first to Windhelm to deal with the Civil War, then a short trip do Dawnstar, I had something to investigate there. Finally, Solitude. We must get moving."

Miraak did not seem willing to take a break or slow down, in a frenzy to accomplish all he is setting out for them to do. He cast a few spells over himself, then a few at her. Her exhaustion will have waned, faded, but not fully dissipated.

"Hurry along now, Vorilla. You are wasting precious moments, our victory is on the Horizon!"

"Now you just wait a minute! I've let you have the lead for less than a day and you already almost got us both killed." The Last Dragonborn slung her bow across her back and marched toward the First - not easy to do with a brave face knowing how easy it would be for him to kill her, /but/ then he'd be killing a part of him she carried with her.

This was /her/ world, and he was living in it was because she brought him with her. He did not escape Apocrypha on his own. He didn't even escape /whole/.

"Your plans are backward," She lifted her chin to see him better and folded her hands behind her back, feigning confidence in the face of someone much larger than herself, "We can't end the war without getting rid of the Thalmor first. We'll travel to Whiterun /on foot/ so we don't draw attention to ourselves with magic, and from there we'll hire a carriage to Solitude to do some reconnaissance." There was a lot more to it, but this explanation would have to do for now. The rest she'd explain on the road.

He wouldn't like it and she didn't care.

Paarthurnax settled back down on the edge of his word wall, wings extended. Blood oozed from his nostrils and his breathing was heavy from exertion, but he would recover in time. Vorilla decided against approaching him. He'd waste at least a half hour more of their day talking.

Vorilla leaned forward with her hand cupped over the side of her mouth and whispered, "and we should go before he starts rambling."

Miraak opened his mouth to argue several times but she kept cutting him off. By the time she finished his nose was blowing smoke, his lips twitching, showing a bit of his restrained anger. He inhaled sharply to refuse then planned to open a portal to go through his way of things, but he felt something .. Dominating. Controlling. Annoyed.

He.. Was sensing her.. Her control over him, she owned his soul and if she wanted to, could tell him what to do and he would have a very hard time resisting. He trembled, his anger turned rage, he was being subverted to another! Alduin, Hermaeus Mora, now Vorilla. He was always under someone's thumb.. He would free himself eventually. He didn't feel the need for revenge on the Last Dragonborn, at least, not until he had his piece from Alduin and the Daedric Prince..

"Fine. I must have words with the Greybeards as it is."

He turned and walked away from her, a satisfied sense of spite settled over him as he twitched his fingers, casting a spell that would make her silent. He, as always, would have the last word.

Vorilla meant to protest - to reject the idea of visiting the Greybeards on their way down the mountain, but no sound came out as she mouthed the words. Her voice was gone! Who else could she blame but Miraak for her loss?

Boiling mad, she bent down for a fistfull of snow from the ground and hurled it at the back of his stupid head.

The ball would have impacted. But seeing as he was still enraged at his ongoing enslavement, he was quite literally steaming. To the point it melted the snow. So instead of a solid ball of snow, a ball of icy water slapped his neck and slid down his back, making him jolt and shiver. He glared at her and quickly summoned a rune, flicking it towards her it imprinted on her forehead, glowing.

A moment later a ball of snow hit her in the face..

He quickly marched down the slopes to head to High Hrothgar, when a second ball hit her in the face!

He had done an innovative mix of conjuring, freezing, then homing runes to make a snowball that would hit her face, and set it to do so every moment or so. Gods save whoever faces the pettiness of Miraak, the First Dragonborn.

Vorilla walked on with a bounce in her step, bursting into fits of soundless laughter every time another snowball hurled toward her. Snow didn't hurt at all, and she was wholly satisfied with herself for getting a rise out of Miraak - that look on his face gave her what she wanted... although it still wasn't fair payback for how peeved she was when he jumped in to steal souls from her.

So, the two finished their walk engaged in a silent snowball war. Vorilla didn't care how many times he hit her back. She physically threw snow at him every chance she got and she didn't care how childish it was.

No other living soul stood in the courtyard outside of High Hrothgar. Perhaps the Greybeards remained indoors to avoid Alduin... or /maybe/ they could sense the two Dragonborns approach and knew one of them didn't belong. Vorilla didn't care. When they reached the doors she pushed right on through as she always did like she owned the place.

Arngeir waited straight ahead on his knees in prayer with his back turned to them both. The others were scattered about the building living their quiet lives.

Miraak grunted and removed the rune matrix on her forehead, then approached the old man kneeling.

"Exactly as a mortal should be, kneeling and praying to something greater than himself. You are one of the puffed up old men who failed to train the Dragonborn properly, then? I suppose you also failed to teach her how to grow her blessing, her gift."

Grabbing the neck of the robes of Arngeir, hauling him to his feet. He pushed him against the wall, looking him in the eye and daring him to try to use the Voice against him.

"You are Dragonborn.. And far older than you look."

The Greybeard did not resist, grunting and looking between the both of them. He noticed signs of battle.

"We heard the shouts from down here. Alduin has been run off, but not for long. He will return eventually."

Vorilla stared intently at Miraak as she tried to perceive him in the same way Arngeir did. How could he tell how old his soul was just by looking at him when she could not? Really, he didn't look old by any standard, nor did he look very young, but his presence burned with liveliness and power. Had he said he was in his thirties she wouldn't second guess the claim. There wasn't anything feeble about him.

"Arngeir, this is the First Dragonborn called Miraak," She cut in to introduce them, unconcerned for how he was being manhandled. He deserved to be bullied for how often he chose to speak in cryptic riddles - him and all his dusty old friends.

"I am aware. The evil that taints him is easily read upon his very essence. I do not understand how such a foul creature has found its way into your company, Dragonborn."

Miraak tightened his grip and stared intently into Arngeir's eyes.

"Have these fools given you anything other than knowledge, Vorilla? Because I would find its uses and purpose highly suspect. The Way of the Voice is highly constructive, used and taught by a group of elderly men. Do you believe they would have any reason to limit what you are? Out of Fear? Envy?"

Arngeir very much wanted to protest but the fireball summoned in his face made him change his mind on that, he did not want to push the powerful supposed First Dragonborn into harming him.

But Miraak wasn't inherently evil, was he? He was effective, objective, and uncompromising... and /occasionally/ diabolical, but Vorilla didn't disagree with his actions - not even now as he seemed like he might melt Arngeir's face off. He had good reason for what he was doing she just didn't know what it was yet.

"Oh, I'm sure they do try to hold me back. Do you have any idea how many pointless cave adventures they've sent me on for words they could teach me themselves? It's almost like they're /trying/ to get me killed out there."

She dug her hand down the front of her armor to pull out the amulet of Talos they suggested she wear. Aside from being the ugliest piece of jewelry she owned, it was supposed to shorten the charge time in between her shouts.

"They do have me wearing this homely looking amulet."

"Hand it to me."

He extinguished the fireball and held his hand out, still keeping his focus on Arngeir. He wasn't entirely sure why but it seemed to him that these old men were scared of power and change. Two things the world had an abundance of and some thing they couldn't avoid. It was sad and pitiful and he planned on trampling on their world view mercilessly.

"I will examine the enchantment, As you know I have more knowledge in the field than anyone who has ever lived."

Vorilla caught a look of horror cross Arngeir's face out of the corner of her eye as she draped the amulet over Miraak's outstretched hand.

Her heart skipped a beat

Was it true? Was there something less than helpful about the amulet she hadn't noticed? If that was the case, nothing would prevent her from exacting her revenge on Arngeir for inhibiting her progress... well, unless Miraak got to him first.

Miraak brought the amulet up to his face, whispering a word which made Arngeir grab at Miraak's hand, but failed to remove the amulet.

"This Amulet of.. Well, this is a symbol of the god known as Talos but the enchantment does reduce the duration of time that it takes to shout.. Handy for a mortal, but for a Dragonborn the secondary enchantment is detrimental. It's actually a piece a magic I thought was lost to time in this world. It is an Enchantment that forces the wearer to associate shouting constantly with negativity and bad things. Attention and Attraction magic used generally to draw prey closer or to a certain area inverted and twisted using words of power carved into it, runes and soul enchanting blended excellently. This Amulet must have been passed down from Dragonborn to Dragonborn, each one coming here for training being lied to and controlled. I believe the Way of the Voice leads to Sovngarde.. Do you agree Vorilla?"

The amulet was thusly destroyed to the growing horror on The Master of the Greybeards' face. Arngeir struggled but Miraak held him by the throat now, preventing him from even trying to Shout. The First Dragonborn was furious and disgusted on behalf of all those lied to that carried Dragon blood, or bore the Soul of a Dov, as the burning smell of flesh filled the air and Arngeir cried out would point to. His throat being roasted by the fire being summoned to Miraak's hand.

The dragon soul within her hummed with warm satisfaction. Vorilla couldn't find it in herself to stew in anger toward the Greybeards while she watched Miraak do what he did best... but alas, it was the wrong thing to do. Both sides of the war would rise up if they discovered that their beloved holy men were slaughtered by the Dragonborn. They were also the collective entity responsible for guarding the throat of the world and the tamed beast who hid there.

"Alright, Miraak. Try not to go overboard here. It would be a mistake to eliminate the Greybeards before we end the war." She meant to say this in a stern tone, but she found herself speaking too softly to sound serious. How could she cold Miraak when he was being so helpful? The amulet was holding her back. He was right. However, she didn't think Akatosh would be pleased with them now if he was watching.

"He gets the message. Come on and let's get moving before we run out of daylight."

Dropping the old man to the floor Miraak dusted himself off and began to walk through the ancient structure and out the front gates.

"Is it impossible to not convince you to allow me to summon a dragon for us to ride? It will save time rather than waste it going by foot! Who knows how long until Alduin kills us all.. Your desire for exercise will doom us, foolish girl."

Miraak seemed like he was going to complain for a while.. And they had just started down the mountain as well.. It would be a long trip at this rate. But.. Perhaps that's what is needed. He has only just returned to the world of Tamriel after all.

Vorilla caught up and walked beside him in stride. His legs were a lot longer than hers, so she had to take two steps for every one he did, but she didn't mind at all.

"Are you... out of shape, Miraak? Is walking hard for you?"

She supposed a mage like him probably didn't feel like he /needed/ fitness to survive. It was hard to tell by looking at him to guess how much of him was muscle and how much was bulk from his armor.

She'd never let him live it down if he was physically weak!

"You're always going on about how old you are. If that's how you really /feel/, we can travel another way. Wouldn't want you to break a hip out here on the road."

"I am a master swordsman in the peak of physical condition!"

He was offended she wouldn't know this, just because he used magic more often than not did not mean he was incapable of fitness and master bladework. He had a lot of time on his hands and was at least capable of using every style of weapon.

"I am a Weapons Master, and I could teach you something about how to notch an arrow, girl."

Miraak wondered if he should begin her training but figured using the Voice along roads would draw too much attention. No, they would have to return to either here or go to another mountain to train her Thu'um.

"Right, right. I'm sure." Vorilla's lips curved into a grin that made her eyes crinkle, but...where was the Miraak who paralyzed her and filled her head with his voice? Why did he so suddenly choose to endure her - /allow/ her to torment him? In a way, his patience was already starting to take the fun right out of it.

She didn't speak another word to him for quite a while, and focused on her allegiance to Nocturnal in her mind instead of trying to engage with Miraak, praying for luck to provide them with a speedier passage to Whiterun than walking that didn't involve dragons or magic... and wouldn't you know, a lone brown horse stood at the base of the steps in front of Ivarstead beside a broken down carriage and a /very/ dead driver.

Lady Luck had answered. Did she orchestrate the attack that ended the carriage drivers life? Certainly. One would have to be a fool to assume that Nocturnal was a benevolent Prince. She wasn't above causing misfortune for those who didn't acknowledge her existence... such as the old Nord whose face was buried in the dirt with a back full of arrows, surrounded by his own blood.

Vorilla approached the horse and tested the leather saddle on its back with a firm shake. It was secure, and their ride was calm and trusting.

"This is our horse now, Miraak."

"It seems hearty and strong.. It will make it to our destination well enough, I suppose."

He narrowed his eyes at her at first before climbing into the back of the carriage, going through the contents of the bags and chest for anything of interest. Perhaps there were some spell tomes he could correct, often Nords did not understand proper terminology thus their versions of magical spell books were quite inaccurate.

Something that unsettled him though was how she said 'Our horse'.. It didn't entirely register until that moment that they were truly stuck with one another. She seemed determined to stay with him so The First Dragonborn could not murder and enslave others. Or, maybe she just wanted to watch while he did so. Due to being Dragonborn, he would not disregard it...

"Get us moving, we do not have any more time to waste."

While Miraak went through the carriage and made himself comfortable, Vorilla busied herself with disconnecting the horse from the carriage altogether. They had no need for the extra weight as they were only two people who weren't hauling a load. It would seem her 'friend' had not understood the reality of what she meant when she said 'our horse'.

"Oh, get out of there. Don't be /silly/," she laughed, pulling the final pin out from the connection. The carriage suddenly tipped forward until it's tongue hit the ground and if Miraak didn't jump out, he'd be spilled out. "I'm no carriage driver. The horse will run faster without a load as big as /you/ behind it."

Finished freeing the ever patient steed, she stuck a heel in the stirrup and hoisted herself up on to its back.

"You're probably too afraid to ride with me, aren't you? That's okay. If riding with me doesn't suit you, you can run behind me all the way to Whiterun."

Miraak realized what she was doing and leapt, using a spell to enhance his agility doing a flip and landing on the ground with less grace than he would prefer.

"I do not fear riding a steed with you, Vorilla. However I prefer riding a far more elegant mount, one with wings that breathes fire. I, however doubt you could make it to Whiterun before I, even by steed. You are inferior to my power."

Dusting himself off he gives Vorilla an arrogant look. He obviously was rather confident in himself.

"I am a master of magic, physically at my peak, I will even provide you with a ten minute lead."

"I get it. You're the master of everything. Has it ever occurred to you that I might value your existence for other reasons?!"

Vorilla scooched forward in the saddle to provide him room, pat the seat, and glared over her shoulder at him, unamused. Did he know how to do anything other than boast and show off?

"This isn't a pissing contest, and I'm not interested in letting you disappear on me. I want you right where I can see you. Get up here with me and stop being such a milk drinker..."

Klimek - the local in Ivarstead responsible for carrying monthly offerings to the Greybeards was headed toward them, crossing the bridge. The gleam of his bald head in the sun was what caught her attention first. He was a good man and a hard worker who she'd assisted twice in the last month. First, she carried his supplies up the mountain and second, she helped convince the woman he loved to marry him.

"Good afternoon, Dragonborn. It's good to see your face again. What brought you back to High Hrothgar? We here in Ivarstead heard the mountain shake this morning."

"Just..." Vorilla forced a smile, glancing sideways at Miraak. She pat the seat behind her a little more aggressively this time. The sooner they left, the sooner she could avoid letting these little people worry about Alduin. "It was nothing. Shouting can get loud sometimes and I've been training pretty hard lately. Nothing to worry about."

Klimek shifted his attention past her when he noticed Miraak standing there. He didn't recognize him. Her last follower had been Lydia from Whiterun.

"Your new follower afraid of horses? What happened to Lydia?"

"She died." Vorilla deadpanned, straight faced. Specifically, she was stabbed through the heart during her first run in with Miraak's cultists, but she was determined to avoid ever bringing that up.

Miraak remained silent, firmly put in his place by the Last Dragonborn. He had not dealt with another of his kind, only mortals or Dragons, and each turn he took on the course of his life made him go quiet as he watched her, if not quite grow, then change.

Perhaps this girl could defeat Alduin by telling him to get over his issues of Global consumption, ending the world and.. Maybe he wouldn't mind it. He could teach her how to use her Thu'um, kill Alduin, then.. He didn't know. He hadn't actually made any serious plans because she was so Damn unpredictable. He was used to reading, to static and consistent timelines, not being part of the tides of fate and change. He mounted the horse, the sturdy creature barely affected by two passengers.

Miraak only hoped she would eventually leave him be, let him find his own way in this world he has been returned to. Even if he was a bit.. Determined to take over the world, and kill, it was not like he was doing it out of evil. He watched the cruelty of dragons torment and destroy his.. Destroy the peoples who were enslaved. He wishes to rule them, to burn away the darkness and corruption inside of them so that those who survive could safely live and grow. It would be a Utopia under his firm, guiding hand.. His visions would never be made a reality if this brat continued to hinder him! It was his birthright to rule, he was the First.. And it hit him again what those titles meant. The First.. And the Last. Very Last. Would the Thu'um fade from memory as so many other arts had? He sorely hoped that would not be so. He was rather attached to his Voice.

"I am... sorry to hear that." Klimek seemed to struggle with what to say about the loss of her loyal steward.

"She's in Sovngarde now." Vorilla feigned a sad expression, briefly lowering her head. Truthfully she never struggled about it at all. Yes, having someone around to follow her and carry her burdens had its perks. Lydia obeyed no matter what the cost, which was the inevitable cause of her untimely death. She didn't /want/ a follower in the first place and if not for the Jarl's insistence she would have left her behind at Dragonsreach. There was nothing worse than feeling obligated to look after someone who couldn't keep up. Lydia became a burden and a responsibility that she didn't have the time for - obviously, because when those cultists charged at them near Windhelm, Vorilla wasn't willing to risk her own life to save her.

Miraak interrupted the conversation by finally joining her on the saddle. She should have been relieved by his compliance, but it gave her a fleeting jolt of anxiety instead that had her scoot an inch closer to the horses neck. This was too close for comfort. She almost wished he'd decided to run off against her demands.

What if he was only playing nice until she let her guard down? If he killed her when she was sleeping she'd never know any better. Then he'd be free to take over the world on his own...

"Here, you can steer" she said, reaching back to hand him the reins. Perhaps if she gave him a little control he'd feel less inclined to betray her.

Accepting the reigns almost reluctantly, he didn't even spare Klimek a glance as he spurred the horse onwards, keeping his grip on the reigns tight but allowing room so the steed would not push itself beyond a comfortable pace.

Leaving that man in the dust provided a small amount of satisfaction, at the very least.


	9. Travels and Tales

Author's Note: Terribly sorry for the wait for anyone reading this, I have been busy lately, and also had some lack of motivation. However I will be trying to continue to post, for if I never post it, it shall eat me up inside. Enjoy!

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"You should be careful in how you call upon your Patron Lady Nocturnal. She is as Tricky as Clavicus Is Vile, and knows as much as Mephala or Mora, though she does not use it in the same ways. She also has many artefacts. The Skeleton key has many more uses than its name would indicate."

His line of thoughts went the opposite direction of hers, or perhaps parallel. He expected her to finally snap and lash out at him, and he wasn't sure if she would allow him to defend himself. She certainly had no clue what level of control she had over him. She literally owned his /Soul/. Might not have a physical deed, but Mora had given it to her and in the terms of beings like the Ideal Masters that was as sealed as a contract could be.

Miraak was sure that he would never attack her without good reason, now more than ever. He major point being he had never realized how good it felt to teach someone and them be able to learn it. He had few students in his past, and none were remembered. Vorilla however was like him, could learn everything he wanted to teach her. He was going to lash out and buck against Mora in any way he could, by spreading what knowledge he had to a chosen few. Vorilla could learn the Voice and several other techniques feom him, in weapon styles.. He might need to find someone else to teach his magical lexicon of information to though. A Dunmer, preferably. Long lived and intelligent.

"We might need to make Camp sometime soon, the sun has begun its descent."

The Last Dragonborn didn't achieve her Nightingale status by pretending she understood Nocturnal. No one could, and no one ever would figure out what made her tick, why she did what she did, or when. Vorilla wasn't too different from Lady Luck herself. The majority of her decisions were made without much deliberation, and she /always/ found creative ways to beat opponents she deeply respected,

Hence Miraak's unfortunate situation.

Had he not crossed her path, infuriated and impressed her, he wouldn't belong to her now.

"I'm sworn to answer to Nocturnal should she ever need me to come guard her portal to Oblivion. It's more of a... partnership or a business contract than servitude. In exchange for my service I'm ensured luck will follow me wherever I go." She kept her eyes ahead as she spoke, scanning the stretch of road in front of them for hidden dangers, "I know of her artifacts, their history, and their uses."

Those cunning enough to steal from Nocturnal were usually allowed to live, but she cursed those items until they were returned. There was only one noted case in history when one her curses was lifted without her cooperation.

Miraak was right about the sun setting. Soon, it's warm light would be gone as it laid to rest to make room for the moon to rise up and watch over the world as it slept. Twilight was Vorilla's favorite time of day.

"I wouldn't mind riding through the night. We'll get to Whiterun faster that way, won't we?" Oh, but she would eventually grow tired. Exhaustion would take her over and she'd have a difficult time staying awake, unless...

"I think you should tell me a story. You've read so many books that I'm sure you know of at least one worth telling."

Miraak could tell she was beginning to tire, but since he was guiding the steed he figured it wouldn't hurt to tell her a tale, perhaps something from long ago..

"Of all of the stories I have read.. I know a few that might be entertaining. There was an instance in which Ysgramor was nearly transformed into an Elf, if you would like to hear it?"

An amusing tale, one of many he had learned directly from Hermaeus Mora. It would entertain her for some time, while he also sent some of his energy to her through their bond. It would keep her awake so he wouldn't have to repeat himself.

The horse was maintaining a steady pace, going through the night they would be able to reach Whiterun in only a few hours time.

Vorilla grinned, already satisfied before story time had begun. She's never had this before - someone to talk on the road to keep things interesting.

"Yes, I would love to hear that story!"

Since she wasn't the one holding the reins she reached around to pull her knapsack into her lap for food. Miraak would have more room to himself now.

"Well, it begins with the Nord Hero hunting a pack of wolves. Hermaeus Mora, of course, knew how Ysgramor hated Snow Elves and decided to trick him. Taking the form of a Hare, Mora approached the Hunter and spoke, telling Ysgramor where his quarry had hidden, a cave to the east. Thanking the small creature, he asked how this was known."

Miraak kept his eyes on the road, glancing up at the sky, pausing the story as he drank in the image of the sunset, choking up but not crying. He doubted tears would ever be something he could produce, not because he was so tough. He had spells in place to keep his line of sight clear. It was probably the most incredible thing he had ever seen. He trailed off, quiet. His train of thought interrupted until he realized what he had done, and cleared his throat.

"The.. The Hare spoke again, complementing his knowledge to his long ears... Ysgramor laughed and said determinedly, 'Ah, what a blessing you have! If only if bestow them upon me, then I could hunt far into day and night gladly aware of all to be heard!' Mora saw his chance, and cast the spell. His skin turning inhumanly white, face becoming angular, Ysgramor was being transformed. However, as a favored Warrior Ysgramor was seen under Shor's eyes, and the God appeared in the form of a Fox, then dove in and ripped the Hare's throat out. With a glance, Ysgramor was returned to human form, and let out a gasp in surprise, having caught his reflection changing in a lake. Thanking the Fox, he went on his way unaware of the true happenings, that the Daedra had tricked him or that his Patron Divine had safeguarded him through the encounter."

Vorilla sank her teeth into a delicious sweetroll while she listened to the tale, but Miraak's story wasn't what she was really after. She didn't genuinely care about the plot...

Since he no longer plagued her mind with his voice against her will, she took it from him now while he may not have felt so willing. There wasn't another man or woman alive that she could meet who had the soul of a dragon - mastery of the voice. So lost was she when listening to him that she failed to notice the emotion that broke his concentration. Even when he wasn't shouting, she could feel the power tucked away behind his every word. /That/ was what she was focusing on. What better way to enjoy this than to ask for stories? After all, she'd bet he's read every text ever written in the history of sentience. He'd never run out!

"Makes me wonder how many Princes I've aimed my bow at in these woods!" Vorilla chortled at that, her face aglow with pure happiness for getting what she wanted. Did this not make her powerful too in a sense?

"See, riding a horse isn't so bad. The trip is the fun part. Gods know, we Dragonborn never get to have enough of it. Would you like a sweetroll, or would you rather drink your potions?"

He hesitated before nabbing the sweetroll, quickly taking a bite out of it, he took his time to savor the pastry.

"Simply.. because I am.. beyond.. Beyond.. Mortal.. Needs, I.. ah.."

He took another bite. His attention was fully drawn to the sweet treat, eating it slowly, he obviously wasn't willing to return it. He hadn't eaten something in so very long, it was the greatest thing he had ever tasted. His arrogance and rude tones disappeared in the face of his humanity, finally, he felt mortal.. And it was far from the worst thing he could be in that moment. The sights, the sounds, the world itself creating a memory he could truly never forget. He spoke a single word of power, his intent and Power driving it home.

"HAH."

Mind. He used the Word of power to seal the memory permanently so he wouldnt forget it. It was too important now, if things were to go poorly against Alduin.

Realizing what it might seem like to her he tensed and coughed.

"It was.. Sufficient, you have my thanks, Vorilla. Though it was not needed to sustain me I enjoyed the interesting taste of it."

That simple, unexpected word of power ran straight through Vorilla and sent a jolt tingling down the length of her spine. She felt his voice rumble through her rib cage and yet nothing bad happened. She didn't get /hurt/, but she scrunched up her shoulders and shivered for a second anyway. That voice, such wonderful music to her ears! Occasional Draugr's screeched shouts at her when she disturbed their ruins, but this was so much better because Miraak - at least for the time being, wasn't actively trying to kill her... although was 'HAH' not a fragment of his Bend Will shout?

Vorilla didn't openly verbalize the tornado tearing through her mind. She fell as silent as the forest while she was left to ruminate over the possibility that Miraak had /tricked/ her - bent her will and therefore convinced her to enjoy his voice, and that the thrill didn't come naturally. What if the propinquity she felt toward him was not because he was Dragonborn, but because he was slowly bending her will to imagine a connection that did not exist?

"Tell me another story."

"How does the tale of the Snow Prince sound? He was a mighty Elven warrior, who was known to turn the tide of any battle in his favor. I believe it was against the ancient Chimer people, who would later become the Dunmer, that he did battle with."

Miraak looked back on what knew of the tale, a modern book written about it and less known history behind it.

"The Prince rode into a battle at the foot of Red Mountain in Vvardenfell, and cut a swath through the enemy forces. It was a sobbing child at their slain parents side who grabbed a sling and launched a sharp rock at the Snow Prince. Having no warning the stone sliced his throat open, and the Prince fell from his mount. Laying there, dying. At the hands of a child no less, he gave the world a slight smile at such irony, and the written text by one of the battle's survivors claim it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.. A man who dies happy, seeing the irony in life, and not hating a child for doing something he too would do."

He believed the people still alive from that time could be counted on one hand.. And he had no clue where any of them were.

"Is that a true story?" Vorilla asked, briefly glancing backward at him for the first time since she was worried about her will being bent. She deeply enjoyed the tale, and that wouldn't change even if it was fiction, but it would make it all the better if it really happened - to think a mere child could be so brave!

"I wonder if there were many children running around way back then. There aren't many now... why, even many of the Jarl's are without offspring. Shouldn't they want heirs to their thrones?" Her concerns were plenty valid. Vorilla had passed through multiple settlements between Skyrim and Solsteim. Between both lands she'd seen a total of roughly 30 children. Was every race determined to die out?

"It is indeed based in real history. Much of what youll read in this world can be found to have been based in reality, very little has ever needed to be made up.

Children come in waves, as sometimes I read about how dire a crisis it is, too few children, before those few will grow and have a half dozen children each and return the population to a standard. Looking back, the population of Skyrim has not actually increased all that much since I first walked Tamriel."

He pondered the issue, perhaps it was the Gods, or an ancient curse that had long since been forgotten that kept the population of Tamriel consistent so that overpopulation would not become an issue. He felt something ignite within him, he would have to investigate this line of thought far more, it seemed so interesting..

It would be such an achievement to discover something like that. Even more so if he could reverse it or manipulate it. Does it effect everyone, or just certain groups? If half breeds rise up, are they counted in the populations of both or neither in the curse?

"Well, I think it's ridiculous. How will the Imperial army grow large enough to invade the Aldmeri Dominion without a decent population? As it is, the military isn't sustainable. Everyone's too busy fighting over Talos worship to look at the big picture. That damn divisive White-Gold Concordat... The Imperials and Stormcloaks will cull the population down to nothing if they don't get their act together, and then this land will belong to the Thalmor."

The night sky hung heavy in the sky now, and the moon and stars were clearly visible through the gaps in the canopy above them. Torchbugs and Luna moths flitted around together in lovely glowing crowds above patches of mountain and tundra flowers, wolves howled in the distance... it was a perfect night. Vorilla thought she was born to cherish and protect this land, and although she was specifically bound and destined to destroy Alduin she believed she was capable of doing more before death.

"Perhaps the Thalmor can also be blamed for the strange lack of offspring. I don't mean to sound paranoid like that idiot Delphine, but... there does seem to be a correlation between their presence and the decline."

"When we confront the First Emissary I shall tear into her mind and find what information we could find useful. Elenwen has been a noted thorn in many sides even within the Dominion."

Miraak casually reminding her of his massive store of knowledge would likely be a common occurrence for as long as they know one another. The First Dragonborn neglected to mention how Hermaeus Mora collected ALL knowledge, diaries, journals and notes. No matter how insignificant. He had read them as a pastime and the Thalmor and their plots against others and each other was so very amusing.

"How do you wish to handle the Thalmor? I am all for wiping them out, we have the power to do so. A few words and their embassy will be a crater."

"Oh, I think I'd like to make a day of it. After we figure out a quiet way to enter the embassy..."

Vorilla chuckled darkly at the thought. No doubt they could easily shout their embassy to the ground, but that wouldn't be very fun. She tilted her head back as far as she could until she was looking at Miraak upside down - a wicked gleam in her eyes and a wolfish grin on her face,

"Lets slay them personally, one by one, and we'll leave /one/ survivor to run back to the Aldmeri Dominion to tell the story."

"That is such a devious idea, I did not think you were capable of this. You must be Dragonborn, only one of us could be so aggressive against ones who have offended. What actions have the Thalmor committed to earn such ire from you?"

Whiterun was beginning to come into view, off in the distance. The stars providing just enough light to make out Dragonsreach. It was rather well constructed, but made of wood as it was Dragons could raze it to the ground.. And he wondered why they hadn't. It was odd how Alduin hadn't ordered the major human capital destroyed.

"They're righteous meddlers and I want them gone. Is... Do you think my plan is /too/ devious?" That'd be rich coming from him! He planned to do worse to her back in Solstheim.

Vorilla faced forward again just in time to hide how smug she was feeling. The two of them were going to be stuck together indefinitely, so it wouldn't make sense to rub anything in his face too often, but... Goodness was it hard for her to feel calm and civilized on a horse with him.

"I do what I want when I want to and there isn't anyone in Skyrim who can stop me... except you I guess, but we both remember what happened the last time you caused me trouble. 'Not this time, Dragonborn. This soul belongs to me'." Using her silliest impression of his perfect voice, she repeated his words from the last time he stole a soul from her. The memory she had of that moment was still crystal clear and just as aggravating as ever.

"You're lucky I decided to like you."

Miraak was silent for a moment, and looked up at the many stars dotting the sky. He sighed and thought about which shout he wanted to use.

"Lok Vah Koor!"

The clouds that obscured any stars faded and Aura Borealis formed overhead, filling the sky with colors. He smiled, electing to ignore her comments and focus on the beautiful sight, something he remembered taking for granted so very long ago.

"Vorilla, do you believe you could restrain yourself if I called a Dragon's Soul forth? I have need of one for this particular moment."

He hoped she would agree, he hadn't had the chance to do this yet since he had escaped Apocrypha, but it was something he had to do.

Vorilla hesitated to reply because she didn't feel like she could fully trust him. She wouldn't be surprised if he took advantage of her good graces to do something unforgivable... but she was too interested to see what he was planning to refuse him.

They were very close to the borders of Whiterun now - near to a city full of people who'd wet themselves if they had to experience Miraak in a negative light. She should have said /no/, but…

"Alright, fine. Do whatever it is you want to do." She sighed, dragging a hand against her scalp.

He didn't meet her eyes as he held a hand up to the sky. He stopped the horse so he could perform this action, and the night was more silent than before.

"Sah Roh Taar!"

A soul spiralled out from his chest, going around his arm and up to his hand, the burning air form of the soul held up to the Air.

"Yah Lok Yol!"

The soul swirled a few seconds longer before flying off into the sky at an incredible speed, meeting the Aura Borealis in little time at all. Suddenly in addition to the whites, blues, greens and purples, Reds, Orange, and Yellows began to sear into the sky, creating a devastatingly beautiful scene. He still refused to look at her, this moment was another he would not forget, as it was his last goodbye to his friend of so many long years, Sahrohtaar released to reach Atherius..

Miraak's words would guide him a little along the way. Seek Skies Fire...

"Oh..."

Vorilla's heart sank into her stomach and she could not stand to test looking back to judge his expression for fear of losing her composure. She felt every bit of his thu'um and it's intent as he cast his dragon into the sky and beyond. Considering how long the two of them had kept each other company in Oblivion, she was sure the void would weigh on Miraak for years to come. How honorable he was to give his friend such a beautiful send off.

"I hadn't realized - I didn't /know/ he didn't make it... I'm sorry for your loss."

Vorilla finally twisted around as best as she could and briefly flattened her hand over his knee without quite meeting his eyes, and without speaking another word about it. What more could she say without blaming herself for what happened?

"It amuses me."

He smiled, his chest rising in a heavy breath.

"He caught me, and before Mora bore down on him, before he threw himself at me to shield me, he said that stick of a Dovahkiin was more of a Dov than I had been in thousands of years. He and I exchanged and meditated on words of power, and he died being torn apart by a Daedric Prince. He was proud and thankful I was able to draw his essence into myself. This was the least I could do for him, as payback for having captured him and dragging him down with me. Away from his Kin, away from Tamriel."

He snapped the reigns and the horse took off. The sky seemed to hold the colors steadily, they would be seen for hours to come. Little did anyone know that this would be a nightly occurrence for a week. His face became stony and emotionless as he could make it.

"Swear to me you will do the same if I fall by Alduin's Thu'um and Claw."

Take the rest of his soul into herself and cast him toward the heavens - wherever it is the Gods would permit him to rest after death? Vorilla found that she didn't want to think that far ahead. He didn't deserve to die so soon after being imprisoned for thousands of years, but she wouldn't argue with him now. She'd just have to put more effort into discovering the best course of action moving forward that would prevent his passing. Apparently, his life and what became of him after death was her responsibility.

"Cross my heart and hope to die. I will do the same for you if you fall by Alduin's thu'um and claw."

Vorilla tasted a hidden truth on these words as they passed her lips. It was almost as if he was implying that he was in a similar position with her as Sahrohtaar was with him - not that she'd dare bring it up now.

"See that stable ahead? There's a carriage driver just outside of it. We'll hire him to take us the rest of the way to Solitude."

"What is to be done with this steed you.. Appropriated for our perusal?"

Miraak spoke now more like he usually did, a clip of arrogance in his tone, the casual superiority he radiated. He guided the steed towards the stable she directed him to and slowed down waiting for her instruction.

He knew he was essentially under her control but he wouldn't mention it as long as she wouldnt, it would hurt his pride to do so and make him unbearably, obnoxiously dramatic about the entire thing, and he would most Definately commit murder, in mass if he needed to, when it happened.

She slid down over the side of the horse and landed stiffly on her own to feet. Riding was always nice for short distances. Had they carried on that way all the way to Solitude her rear would be painfully sore for hours.

"Hop off and walk away. If he chooses to follow us, we'll keep him." As was the way it typically worked with horses. The Last Dragonborn was a taker of souls, but she didn't like the idea of keeping a creature against its will... like Miraak. Ah, how she wished there was a way to balance the scales between them. Guilt didn't suit her conscience well at all. She couldn't express it without sounding weak, and she couldn't bury and forget about it either.

Vorilla walked up to the carriage driver who was just as friendly as always. While Miraak dismounted the horse she arranged for their trip and paid for it with 20 gold coins. Normally when she hired a carriage it was because she'd exceeded her carrying capacity. Tonight all she wanted more than anything in the world was to get horizontal and let someone else do the work.

Miraak climbed into the back of the carriage and hid a yawn with a sigh.

"Was it really necessary to hire this man when we could have used the carriage along the road?"

He at least had the decency to keep his voice low so they would not be blamed with a murder. Though technically not wrong, thinking about how she had asked for aid from Lady Nocturnal. In the end though it was one man who probably had it coming to him.

"Do you expect me to follow you blindly without any indication of your plans, Vorilla? I will become agitated if this continues, we must not keep plans like these from each other."

Vorilla blatantly rolled her eyes at him as she climbed into the carriage behind him. Why should he have any reason to think she was obfuscating the truth?

"We took the horse without its carriage so that we'd reach /this/ carriage in half the time," she openly yawned, crawling up onto the bench across from him where she could make herself comfortable.

The carriage started to move as soon as they were both seated.


End file.
